


In The Hall of the Mountain King

by hobbitgrl



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, No one is sexually assaulted but there are threats of it in one chapter, Slow Burn, it starts sort of dark but it really wasn't ever as dark as I thought it would be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 89,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29548065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitgrl/pseuds/hobbitgrl
Summary: Bilbo Baggins has no interest in paying tribute to the great King Under the Mountain but as the descendent of the Old Took the Shire deemed her the only suitable representative. Overwhelmed by Erebor and underwhelmed by its court, it is the famed Arkenstone that gets her in trouble. Bilbo is woefully unprepared for its seduction of the unwary and now she is trapped in a battle of wits for her very life with the King Under the Mountain and the impossible tasks he has set.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 15
Kudos: 98





	1. The Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slight AU, always-a-girl Bilbo that starts sort of dark, takes a stop at comfort, and spends the night at fluff along the way. I will try to tag chapters with anything remotely extreme.

As a descendent of the Old Took, The Shire deemed Bilbo Baggins the only suitable representative to pay tribute to the King under the Mountain. The Elders maintained the King had invited a Shire representative by special invitation; there would be a great ball celebrating Durin’s Day and it was unanimously decided only their most prestigious representative would suffice. Bilbo was pretty sure they received the same invitation as every other peaceable people between Erebor and the Blue Mountains, but it was everyone’s opinion that she should keep _her_ opinions to herself. So here she was, riding into Erebor with the requisite presents for the King strapped to the pack ponies trailing behind.

Despite her grumbling, the trip had been a fine adventure so far. The wizard Gandalf accompanied her, and his stories were both enthralling and educational. And once they reached Rivendell Bilbo was treated to the hospitality of the elves for which she would always count herself lucky. She had left the Shire with four barrels of Old Toby, but the elves were such gracious hosts Bilbo felt compelled to leave one behind in thanks. The only part of the trip she had truly hated had been while they traversed the paths of Mirkwood.

Where Rivendell seemed joyful and welcoming, Mirkwood carried a suspicious, hostile air. There was something unnatural about those woods, but when she tried to ask, Gandalf had shushed her and said, “The trees have ears. We do not want to be rude to our hosts.” Bilbo tried to do as he instructed but there was a gloom that felt heavier and shadows that were darker than the thick canopy could explain, and she breathed a sigh of relief as they finally exited the trees and entered the plains before the Lonely Mountain.

Lake-Town was interesting, but it was Dale that seemed especially grand. The sheer number of people living side-by-side and the clamor and mess of it left her wide-eyed. Along with the Old Toby, she brought an exquisitely embroidered tapestry that captured the rolling green hills and babbling creeks of her home, and a silver tea set so fine many a hobbit wistfully sighed as it was packed up. Bilbo had thought the gifts grand, but as she stared at the towers of Dale and then, finally, the gates of Erebor itself a terrible anxiety began to twist her stomach. There was nothing in the Shire that could have prepared her for the wealth and riches on display here, and she began to worry her gifts would make the hobbits appear quaint rather than refined.

Still, while Bilbo had imagined the mountain to be a dark, unpleasant place full of hard stone corners and mirthless dwarves, as they approached, she saw first the waterfall that poured from the mountain and then the great gates carved out of the rock channeling its awesome flow. They passed through the gates and entered the kingdom proper, and she craned her head around, intrigued by the clever windows and mirrors that captured and reflected the sun during the day. They entered near dusk and while walking to their rooms dwarves rushed around lighting more candles than Bilbo dreamed existed in the whole world.

Great chandeliers hung high above her head, their light dancing across the stone that climbed into great vaulted arches; sconces lined the walls, gold plates behind each candle magnifying individual flames tenfold. Bilbo stumbled along through winding passages and through room after room of riches, until finally they reached her chambers. The room was practically as big as Bag End not counting the attached bathing room, and she immediately sank into one of the chairs before the fireplace, quite overwhelmed—she was such a very small hobbit and Erebor, it turned out, was such a very mighty place. Her tribute was insubstantial, embarrassing even, and she looked at the gown laid out on the bed for tomorrow night’s feast with trepidation. Her Took side was conspicuously quiet while her Baggins side pointed out just how ill-prepared for this she was. She spared a curse for the Elders who never questioned their own importance when they sent her on this expedition.

Rousing her spirits, Bilbo set her chin and told the fireplace, “I will simply deliver our gifts and stay out of the way. Who will notice one hobbit in the Kingdom under the Mountain anyway?”

***

The next night’s feast was the first of the celebration and, unfortunately for Bilbo, she found the whole thing interminable; despite its fine food and drink, the conversation was like walking naked through brambles. Gandalf was seated near the King at the main table while Bilbo was near the back corner. She saw nothing of Gandalf or the king through the crowds, and her attempts to engage in conversation ended tragically. She turned to her right first, but when she commented on the weather and inquired about this year’s harvest the man next to her sniffed and turned away, giving her his back. She scowled at his heavily embroidered jacket and decided she did not care for this Master of Lake-town at all. She turned to her left next, but while the woman talked to Bilbo, her smile was too predatory to be welcoming.

“Your dress is so quaint,” she said, staring down her nose at Bilbo. “The material reminds me of the draperies merchants were trying to sell in Dale last year. Everyone agreed that pattern embodied the unrefined beauty of a bog.”

Bilbo clamped her mouth shut and ignored the insult despite a sudden driving need to point out the woman’s hair looked like birds had settled on top of her head and abandoned the nest they made out of her hair. Her Baggins side reminded her she should _not_ cause a scene, but Bilbo felt her temper jump and chafe at the snobbery of the guests. She wondered what a dwarvish king gained from this kind of celebration. The backbiting and sniping, the finery that did little to hide the viciousness of the people wearing it—she couldn’t comprehend why anyone would willingly engage in such nonsense. Her homesickness swelled and she found herself eager to get back to the idle gossip and simple concerns of the Shire. And she didn’t care what the Elders said; the next time they could find a new representative because she had no intention of repeating this unpleasant experience again.

As the last course was cleared from the table, Bilbo slipped away and escaped down a quiet hallway; the air was cooler here, and the further she got from the feast, the more like herself she felt. She entered another room, empty but more elaborate than the one housing the banquet, and when she saw a dais in the shadows, she knew she had found the throne room.

Great columns reached up, disappearing into shadows, and she spun in a slow circle, awed by the grandeur. There was a hush broken only by the echoes from the feast, and Bilbo twirled small circles across the floor. A sparkle drew her eye; intrigued, Bilbo stopped her spinning before slowly approaching the empty throne. Her gaze roamed across arms and a back that were carved with painstaking care before settling on the gem mounted at the top. It caught the flickering light and reflected it back out in a cascade of beautiful refractions. Sometimes white, sometimes purple, sometimes pink, the light and colors inside the gem swirled and changed, enthralling Bilbo in their eerie beauty. Her arm reached out of its own accord, the curiosity overwhelming her. It almost looked...

“STOP THIEF!”

The voice boomed, echoing off the stone, and Bilbo yanked her arm back, mortified by her own behavior.

“My sincere apologi—”

“What good are apologies from a liar and a would-be burglar?”

She looked up sharply at the angry dwarf stomping towards her across the room. His finery marked him as high-ranking and she could already imagine what Gandalf was going to say.

“Sir,” she tried again. “I was simply taken in by—”

“Taken in by my treasure,” he cut her off coldly. “And no doubt planning to take it for yourself so you could keep living fat and happy off the dwarves’ posterity.”

Bilbo reared back, slapped by the words. Drawing herself up, she met his cruel blue eyes and floundered for a response. “I beg your pardon,” she began but he interrupted her again with a snarl.

“You will get no pardon from me.”

“You pompous donkey’s ass!” she exploded. “I told you…you…”

He was looming over her now and Bilbo trailed off, the words shriveling in her mouth. Dark hair cascaded around stern features, a dark beard framing his vicious mouth. He stood in velvet robes, black, embroidered with silver and gold filigree around the edges that shimmered like the stone mounted on his throne. And on his head, as unmistakable as this mountain loomed from the plains, sat a crown. This was Thorin Oakenshield the King under the Mountain, and she had just called him a pompous donkey’s ass.

“Now,” he said with narrowed eyes, “should I execute you for your words or your attempted thievery?”

There was harsh noise where her thoughts used to be as EXECUTE YOU bounced around the inside of her head with a terrible sonorous clanging and Bilbo floundered for words as the crowd from the Great Hall began filing into the room.

“My dear Bilbo!” Gandalf called, pushing his way over to her. “What is going on here?” Bilbo looked up at the wizard and shrugged.

“Gandalf,” she said, “I—”

“This burglar is _your_ friend Gandalf?” Thorin interrupted her. The sneer in his voice amplified her fear.

“May I present Mistress Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf replied as if they weren’t standing in the throne room of a mad king who wanted to execute her for looking at a shiny gem. The very king her people thought valued hobbits so much he sent them a special invitation. Gandalf’s hand landed in the middle of her back and pushed, and Bilbo stumbled forward, habit taking over as she dropped into the clumsiest bow of her life.

“I’ve never known hobbits to be a thieving folk,” Thorin said. His gaze slid over her dismissively and Bilbo smoothed her skirt, her confusion and fear morphing into anger. Not only was this whole situation ridiculous, but she was beginning to feel more and more like she was being threatened for the entertainment of the crowd.

“Hobbits are a good honest folk,” Bilbo said tightly. “This is nothing but a terrible misunderstanding.”

“The misunderstanding seems to be your assumption that you could steal my jewels and debase my hall.”

“Debase?” Bilbo asked. That was too much. “Why would I steal dwarven baubles?”

The crowd’s gasp was audible, and she grimaced. That didn’t seem like a good sign. Thorin examined her with a look of disgust.

“Your majesty,” he said.

“What?” she asked.

“You will address me as your majesty,” he repeated. “Especially while you stand in _my_ throne room stealing _my_ baubles.”

“Very well, _your majesty_ ,” she said, doing her best to make the words sounds like an insult. Her Took side flared, burning up all her good sense. “I am no burglar and if your hall is debased it is only because it has forgotten the feelings of good manners and warm hospitality.”

When Bilbo heard the second gasp, she knew she ought to stop talking. She felt Gandalf’s hand clamp onto her shoulder as if to silence her himself. Thorin’s eyes glowered at her from under dark brows and she glowered right back.

“Take her away,” Thorin said.

Several things happened at once. Four dwarves pushed forward from the crowd, weapons in hand as they approached. Gandalf shoved her behind him, his thin frame suddenly blocking hers entirely as he seemed to grow in size. The approaching dwarves halted, surprise on their features and Thorin’s scowl deepened. The crowd backed up, the threat of violence more terrifying than the promise of a good show.

“Your majesty,” Gandalf said and this time it was his voice that boomed, not so loud as Thorin’s but enough to silence the crowd and command attention. “Mistress Baggins is my very good friend and I’m afraid I cannot stand by until we’ve cleared up this misunderstanding.”

Thorin glared at Gandalf and then at her before finally gesturing for her to speak.

“I went for a walk,” Bilbo began, her words loud in the pregnant silence. “I was tired of the banquet and I wandered into this room.”

“And it is coincidence that you were stealing my crown jewel when I found you?” Thorin asked.

“I was drawn to its beauty,” she admitted, “but I was never going to steal it. I merely wanted to…to touch it. It looked…warm.”

“Ah,” Gandalf jumped in with a smile and an easy shrug. “You see? Nothing but a misunderstanding.” Gandalf patted her shoulder as if that cleared everything up, but Bilbo didn’t miss the dissatisfaction on Thorin’s face.

“Touching the crown jewel is an offense punishable by death,” he said coldly. “Disrespecting the king is an offense punishable by death. Standing on the king’s dais without permission is an offense punishable by death. Am I to forgive them all because this fat little hobbit was too foolish and lazy to learn the basics of the court? The court whose hospitality she took for granted?”

Bilbo didn’t know she was taking a step forward until Gandalf’s hand yanked her back.

“Mistress Baggins is the kindest and most respectful of souls,” Gandalf responded.

Bilbo sniffed, feeling neither kind nor respectful toward this blowhard king and his ridiculous gem.

“Aren’t you Mistress Baggins?” Gandalf prompted when she said nothing.

“Of course,” Bilbo said grudgingly, “I am very kind and very respectful.” Gandalf gave her shoulder another hard nudge. “Your majesty.”

“I cannot let this insult go unanswered Gandalf,” Thorin addressed the wizard, ignoring Bilbo. “This would be an act of war were she a ruler instead of some country wench. She will go to the dungeons and then we will discuss her fate.”

“I would rather be a fat hobbit every day of my life than so poisoned by my pride that I would go to war over a gem!” Bilbo snapped. This time the crowd didn’t just gasp but a woman actually fainted. Bilbo looked at Gandalf and he shook his head at her; even he didn’t know how to save her if she insisted on insulting the king. In public. In front of the court. Thorin looked like he might very well execute her on the spot. Bilbo knew she’d done a stupid thing, but she was tired of being asked to scrape and bow for a vicious dwarf who clearly didn’t deserve respect, let alone obedience.

“Put her in the labyrinth,” a new voice said. “Let the mountain decide her fate.”

“The labyrinth?” Bilbo repeated. A tall elf separated himself from the crowd—a Mirkwood elf and royalty in his own right judging by the lightly wrought crown upon his brow.

“The dwarves of Erebor would not want to be known as the pawns of wizards,” the elf said, looking meaningfully between Thorin and Gandalf, “again. Such a reputation might make others think you hoard this mountain through dark deals rather than divine right.”

“The labyrinth is a trial for warriors,” Thorin said.

“The labyrinth is a trial of worth,” the elf king countered. “If she survives, she has proven herself worthy of a king’s mercy and if she does not, well.” He finished with a light shrug. His sounded as if he discussed what shirt to wear in the morning.

Bilbo decided it was a tossup between which king she hated more.

Thorin’s gaze bored into hers and ice spread from the pit of her belly. He was going to do it. Whatever this labyrinth was, and Bilbo was sure it was terrible, Thorin was going to throw her into it. At least if he executed her here her death would be swift—who knew what horrors waited for her in long, dark, twisting tunnels? She had been too shocked, then angry to think through the consequences of her words. But she imagined that he felt a vicious glee at this revenge—he was going to throw her into this labyrinth and then she would certainly die. All because she had hurt his stupid majestic feelings.

Fear replaced the anger in a cold rush making her insides quake, but Bilbo locked her knees, refusing to go to her death begging. His gaze turned inscrutable, and she lifted her chin waiting for him to condemn her.

“Guards,” the King ordered. “Please show Mistress Baggins to the labyrinth. Everyone else, let us return to the festivities!”


	2. Into the Labyrinth

The labyrinth was just as awful as promised. Bilbo had lost all track of time and place; she tried to mark her progress at first, to keep track, somehow, of where she went and which turns she took. But it was as if the mountain itself twisted and turned around her, the hallways and turns reforming between one breath and the next. She no idea how long she’d been wandering but her feet were sore, and she bore the marks of scrapes and cuts from trips, twisted ankles, and stubbed toes.

Her dress was ruined—not that anyone thought it worthwhile before, but it was her finest gown. She had been so proud when she tried it on, the silk draping over her skin as light as air. How foolish she was to imagine she could represent the Shire. To imagine a hobbit could share space with a king. She stubbed another toe and her yearning for Bag End peaked, as fierce as the physical pain. Bilbo wondered how she would finally die; would she simply walk until exhaustion and dehydration made it impossible? Would the mysterious sounds she heard skittering in the shadows finally come for her? Or perhaps a pit would open up beneath her feet, dropping her onto spikes or into the mouths of great sea monsters kept imprisoned by an evil king.

The only positive were the lights that seemed magical in nature; there no candles, but every ten feet or so a small orb hovered over sconces set in the walls casting a dim orange glow. It heightened the sense of unnatural that permeated these corridors, but at least she wasn’t stumbling through pitch black. That was a lucky break, Bilbo told herself, though nothing about her situation felt lucky at the moment. Still, theoretically she could survive this nightmare. Somewhere inside these confounded walls was a chalice, she had been told—a golden chalice worthy of a king. If she could find that cup and bring it to Thorin he would take mercy. She could pack her things and leave; she could go back to the Shire and never be bullied into an adventure ever again.

And so, despite her pain and weariness, she trudged along. Her stomach gave a mighty grumble and then twisted in on itself as more sounds came from the dark, scuttling, scurrying sounds just outside the candlelight that made her heart leap and her palms sweat. She took a right and then another into a long straight hallway. Step, step, step—her foot came down and the floor gave way. A trap door opened up beneath her and she tumbled through the dark. She slid and rolled, somersaulting at the bottom until she lay flat on her back, arms and legs splayed out and the world still spinning around her.

“Ow.” Bilbo said. It was official: she hated adventures and dwarves and wizards and all of it.

Sitting up with a wince, she took stock of her new surroundings. It was darker here, the candles spaced further apart so that the shadows pooled and deepened between them. Pushing back to her feet she took a step forward and promptly tripped right over a skeleton.

Bilbo cried a little then. Not a lot, and nothing so undignified as a sob, but a few tears welled up and carved tracks down her dirty cheeks. She was going to die in here. She was never going home, would never see Bag End in the spring when the warm breeze brought the smells of blooming flowers, or sit in her favorite chair in front of the fire while snow fell outside in a cold, quiet blanket. Bilbo sniffled and stood up again. She would never—

She stopped, looking down at what she tripped over. It was a skeleton, not hobbit or dwarf, but it wasn’t the bones that held her attention. Next to the femur was a scabbard and inside that scabbard—she bent over and picked it up—was a sword.

Okay so maybe it was closer to a very large dagger, but Bilbo was a hobbit and that made it the perfect sword-size for her. Drawing it fully, she held the unsheathed blade in one hand and the scabbard in the other; something about the solid weight of the weapon soothed her and gave her hope. Too bad the sword didn’t come with a map, but Bilbo would take what she could get.

Striding forward with renewed purpose she navigated the lower levels with fresh spirits if not fresh feet. A dull throbbing pain settled firmly into the background of her mind along with her tight back and how her shoulders kept creeping up like they might swallow her neck. She thought she was on an incline, and she was daring to hope she was making progress, but then Bilbo turned another corner and came face-to-face with the largest spider she had ever seen.

She had never been particularly afraid of spiders or snakes or other creepy crawly things. Bilbo liked to garden, and that brought with it all manner of creatures. But this spider was quite literally as big as she was and that was simply unacceptable. There was one single, infinite moment of stillness…and then it charged, its pincer-like fangs clacking.

Bilbo slashed out with the sword on instinct, the blade catching, and the spider hissed, pulling back from her. A white, hot liquid squirted across her arm, and Bilbo turned and ran the other way as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her.

The spider scuttled after her; she could already feel herself slowing, her exhausted muscles burning, and she knew she couldn’t escape. Looking for somewhere to stand and fight, the decision was made for her when it got close enough to trip her; Bilbo failed and landed hard on her face, then rolled immediately and slashed up—her swing was wild, but the spider didn’t seem to expect any resistance and she caught it across the abdomen as it positioned itself above her. More hot liquid doused her, and the creature gave a mighty scream, stabbing down with its legs and trying to bite. Bilbo swung and swung, heedless of her wounds as the spider landed a blow to her shoulder and then another to her side. Gritting her teeth, she stabbed at its middle and then pulled towards herself, slicing it from belly to mouth as foul-smelling wet pieces splattered across her and the floor.

Above her the creature shuddered and collapsed, its bulk pinning her to the ground. She scrabbled and scratched her way free, each inch another battle as she pulled herself out from under it. When the spider finally lay dead on the floor and Bilbo sat panting and unhindered beside it, she gave it one more solid kick.

Pulling herself up the wall, she got back to her feet with a pained grunt. Bilbo took a slow step, then another. And then, panting, exhausted, soaked with spider guts and her own blood, she started off again.

She didn’t notice the labyrinth changing at first. She was dictating her adventure to herself, writing an imaginary book that took her pain, her fear, and the awful bone-weariness that seemed to weigh her down and assigning it to someone else, some fictional character she imagined without having to be. It worked, but she was so far gone into her own mind that she was five steps into a new room before she realized her surroundings had changed.

What registered first was the floor; the change in sensation was odd and looked down to realize she was standing on coins—piles of gold coins. She swung her heavy head to see endless mounds of gold. More magic globes glinted around the room, their light magnified by the treasure, and she took another tentative step forward and then stopped. Her feet stopped. Her breath stopped. Her heart stopped. Because there, splayed out across the gold like a sleeping god, was a dragon.

Something primal and purely instinctual took over then and Bilbo found herself behind a golden mound panting with fear as her heart pounded into her ribs. Adrenaline flooded her body making her shake and she focused on breathing in and breathing out. Breathing in and breathing out. Breathing in—Bilbo peeked back around the mound, gulped, and pulled back into her hiding spot—breathing out.

There was a _dragon_ in this labyrinth. A dragon! Blasted, confounded, confusticated…

“Fuck,” Bilbo exhaled.

Strong-arming herself through the panic, Bilbo went through her options. She could try to go back the way she came. It was a long, straight hallway that led her here, but giant spiders were better than giant dragons. But a nagging voice kept saying there was no way a dragon was hidden inside a labyrinth on accident. Gingerly, she stuck her head out again and scanned the room and…there! A door on the other side at the top of an official looking set of stairs. And in front of that door, gleaming as bright as any of the coins, was a golden chalice.

That had to be the chalice she was looking for. A doorway guarded by a dragon with a golden cup sitting in front of it—there might as well be banners hanging that announced “EXIT HERE.” If she could just get through that door she would escape and then she could go home! She could return to Bag End. There was nothing else for it—she would get through that door or die trying. Concentrating on moving silently, Bilbo Baggins started the long journey across the sea of gold and hoped she didn’t wake the dragon.

Her progress was painstakingly slow, each step calculated and gentle to ensure the coins didn’t slide out from under her. She moved from mound to mound, working to keep a pile of gold between her and the dragon at all times. Crossing the room seemed to take as long as the entire rest of the labyrinth, but finally she saw the bottom of the stairs—the distance between her and that first step was barely more than her height. But the staircase was exposed and once she began the climb, she would be vulnerable and all too visible.

“I smell you.”

The words rolled across the room, roiling and slithering around her, away and over the gold.

“Did you think I would sleep as you walked through my den?”

Bilbo understood every word, but comprehension eluded her. The voice of a dragon was a truly fearsome thing, and it trapped her in its power.

“Come out little thief,” it hissed, that giant body moving across the gold with sinuous ease. “Would you deny me your voice?”

Despite her behavior towards Thorin, Bilbo Baggins was not a fool. She was well-read and clever and, most importantly, she had a long fascination with dragons. Bilbo had read every account of a dragon she could find, and she knew full well what it could do with her voice. To speak with a dragon was a foolhardy act under the best of circumstances and facing it alone, wounded, and exposed was far from ideal. But she couldn’t hide forever—it would find her eventually.

So, Bilbo accepted that being a fool was sometimes the only thing a person could be.

Daring a peek, she saw that its back was to her and she darted away from the stairs putting three mounds between her previous position and her current one. Then, pointing her voice straight up and hoping the acoustics were as tricky for a dragon as they were for hobbits Bilbo began to speak.

“Oh, great and mighty beast! I would never steal from one as wonderous as you!”

Something between a chuckle and a growl vibrated through the air. “You would not be here were it not to steal! You want the chalice, but none have ever made it past me, and you shall not be the first.”

It was turning, moving her way and Bilbo ran for a mound directly in front of her, moving more towards the middle but staying in its periphery as the dragon moved towards the edge.

“Do you guard the treasure of Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain?” she asked.

Its roar shook the walls and stalactites rained down, crashing into the treasure below. “He is king of nothing!” the dragon bellowed. “I am Smaug the Terrible and I will one day be free of this prison! The dwarves will know my wrath and rue the day they tried to trap me.”

Noted, Bilbo thought to herself. “I too am no friend of Thorin’s,” Bilbo said in her most conciliatory voice. “He put me in this labyrinth to die.”

“And die you shall.” The words were the quietest the dragon had spoken so far but the whisper still boomed. It was nearly upon her. She scoured her memory—dragons were vain and vengeful. Intelligent creatures, they enjoyed toying with their prey. A thought sparked.

“What about a riddle?” Bilbo called out desperately. “A riddle for my life?”

“What use have I for a riddle?” Smaug laughed. “Do you think there is a question you could ask to which I would not know the answer?”

“Then we wager,” Bilbo said, forcing the words out through the fear drowning her. “I shall ask you a question and, if you do not know the answer, you will let me leave.”

The silence lasted for one heartbeat. Two. Bilbo crouched, waiting for Smaug to knock the mound of gold away, waited for those sword-like teeth to puncture her.

“I accept your deal,” Smaug said. “Come out in the open, little thief. I will not kill you until there is an answer.”

Stepping out to face a dragon was, far and away, the greatest act of bravery any hobbit had performed in all of history.

Smaug was even more terrifying awake and up close. His scales were a red gold that caught the treasure’s light and swallowed it. His size was so tremendous some part of Bilbo went running away screaming into a dark corner of her brain and she knew she was never getting it back. Bilbo Baggins would not walk out of this labyrinth the same hobbit who walked in. His eyes glinted at her with cruel glee, so sure was he of his victory and she knew that if she lost, her death would not be quick and painless. Smaug would enjoy her suffering.

“Ask,” he ordered.

“What have I got in my pocket?”

The sound started low and near silent, little more than a vibration Bilbo felt in her bones. It grew until the tremors shook the coins, the metal clinking and clacking as they shook and fell, sliding down piles and off ledges. Finally, Smaug opened his mouth and roared, fire exploding from his mouth at the ceiling. Bilbo’s whole body clenched, the terror so palpable she forgot how to breathe.

“I said I would answer your riddle!” Smaug roared. “You are a thief and a liar.”

“You said you would answer my question,” Bilbo clarified, “and that, if you did not know the answer, you would let me leave.”

“Go little thieving liar,” Smaug hissed, his fury as potent as his fire. “Go before I break our contract and destroy you.”

Bilbo bolted. It wasn’t dignified or brave, there was nothing controlled or careful about her movements. She ran up the stairs with a speed she wasn’t capable of under any other circumstances. By the time she reached the top and turned the knob she was panting so hard she was on the verge of hyperventilating.

“Wait,” Smaug boomed from below. “What is the answer to your infernal question?”

Dragons, Bilbo knew, were creatures of greed and curiosity but they were also creatures of magic. They were bound by the laws of language as surely as the sun rose and set; Bilbo had thought through her words carefully before proposing the game and she had stood, facing down a dragon and prayed he could not see through the grime and blood and torn material to the all-too obvious truth. The chalice stood at her feet, the door hung open beside her, and Bilbo took a breath knowing she wasn’t safe yet.

“I don’t have any pockets.” Then she snatched up the chalice and ran, pulling the door shut behind her. It only just closed before a dragon slammed against it, the walls trembling and cracking. Smaug had chosen his words as carefully as Bilbo—it was luck he hadn’t noticed her trick, and luck she didn’t die because of his. He promised not to kill her only until there was an answer. Realizing her mistake too late, Bilbo ran.

She burst out of the labyrinth smoking and smoldering. She had outrun the dragon’s fire but only just—Smaug tore the door down and couldn’t get into the hallway after her, but he could still blast fire. Death by dragon’s fire was no more appealing than any other death Bilbo faced that day, so she dug up the last of her reserves and ran like she hadn’t since the Fell Winter brought the wolves.

One second she was in a dark hallway, trying to outrun an inferno and the next she was in a bright, open room full of people in fanciful clothes. Her body finally gave out and she dropped to her knees wondering if she might have died after all. The crowd swept in before parting to let Thorin Oakenshield approach, a sneer warring with shock on his cold, chiseled features.

“Your chalice your majesty,” Bilbo said, shoving the golden treasure into his chest so that he had to take it or let it fall. “May you trip and fall into dragon fire.”

It wasn’t her best curse, but it would have to do. Because, with that, Bilbo promptly passed out.


	3. Three for Three

Bilbo woke slowly, the haze of a nightmare giving way to a reality that wasn’t much better. She was on her side, facing the smooth gray rock of the room she’d been given when she first arrived. She hurt, but not as badly as she might have thought. She supposed she was still alive then. She rolled to her back and winced, almost immediately rolling up on her other side and off her tender skin. The dragon had definitely been real then and so had his fire.  
“How did you manage to survive the dragon.”  
Her heart picked up speed as a dark form moved out of the shadows of her room, the burning embers of his pipe illuminating his face.  
“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said, trying wake up enough to offer a proper insult. He drew on his pipe, and Bilbo shifted again, trying to find a position that didn’t hurt. She sighed, grateful for the cool silky material of the bedclothes against her tender skin and then froze; swallowing, she pulled the sheet tight against her skin. Her warm, bare skin. “Where are my clothes?”  
“Your clothes are ash as you should have been,” he replied, eyes still roaming over her like she was a specimen to be studied. Then, in a dry tone, he added, “They’re still trying to scrub the stains out of the stone where you so dramatically collapsed.” No doubt Thorin wished the dragon had burnt her to a crisp and saved him the hassle.  
Awkwardly, Bilbo sat up and scooted back until she felt the wall against her back. A hiss escaped her, though as her movements pulled on her wounds. She hated feeling so weak, especially in front of him, and she shot him a glare, daring him to say anything. But he only cocked an eyebrow and offered a small, mocking smile.  
A panoply of curses went through her mind, but Bilbo held herself back. The most important thing she could do right now was get out of this cursed mountain and away from its dreadful king. Arguing with him would only give him more fodder to hold her here. “I would like to depart for the Shire as soon as I am able,” she said as obsequiously as she could manage.  
“The dragon would like to depart from the labyrinth,” he retorted. “Fortunately, I make the decisions about who departs from where.”  
Bilbo bit her tongue. Just a little bit more, she told herself; she only had to put up with a little bit more. In a measured voice she asked, “What cause could you possibly have for keeping me, your majesty?”  
Thorin approached until there was barely a handspan between himself and the edge of the bed, and then, to Bilbo’s horror, he leaned down until his face was only inches from hers. At this distance she couldn’t miss the sharp angle of his cheekbones or how his lower lip was fuller than the top one. His beard was closely trimmed, and she noticed the sprinkling of gray in his hair. Funny the details one missed when being ordered to their death.  
“I admit I cannot figure it out,” he whispered, his breath fanning across her cheeks. His gaze roamed over her face, and then down across the exposed skin of her neck and shoulders, and Bilbo fought the urge to fidget. When his eyes traveled back to hers, they were unreadable. “How did you escape the dragon?”  
Bilbo snorted; no doubt it wasn’t the escape that perplexed him so much as that she, a soft, fat hobbit, had managed it. Her tone mocking, she said, “Do you think muscles matter when you’re facing a dragon?” She shook her head in amazement. “You are certainly not burdened by wisdom.” His face hardened at her words and his expression turned cruel.  
“I carry many burdens,” he said harshly, “but the most pressing of them is a thieving hobbit who is committed to ruining my celebrations by not knowing her place.”  
“My place is in the Shire far away from tyrant dwarven kings and their murderous pride,” she snapped. Abruptly Thorin stepped back and turned away. He walked over to the fire and tapped out his pipe.  
“You insulted me three times,” he said, and Bilbo felt anxiety twist her stomach. “The labyrinth excuses only one. I am owed two more apologies and you shall not leave until I have them.”  
“But I survived the labyrinth!” she argued, voice rising. “I outwitted the dragon and brought you that blasted chalice as ordered. You said I could go home!”  
“I said no such thing,” he reminded her, and Bilbo wracked her memory for a word, a phrase, anything she could use as leverage against him, but he was already turning back, that icy stare pinning her to the wall. “More than a fortnight of feasting remains. Before the thrush knocks on Durin’s Day you will complete two more tasks of my choosing. If you’re successful, you will be awarded the prize set down by my people long ago. If you are not, your fate is mine to do with as I please.”  
“Mistress Baggins has already done the impossible.” Bilbo’s eyes shot to the door where Gandalf stood having entered without her notice. “To put her on this path is unreasonable and beneath the majesty of your crown.”  
“You do not lecture me on the majesty of my crown,” Thorin growled. “Were it up to you I would not even have this crown.”  
“Dragons are not pets, and they cannot be trapped forever,” Gandalf replied.  
“Better to let it slaughter my people and drive us from our home?” Thorin countered. “You do not rule here Gandalf and it is I who will decide when this hobbit has paid her debts.”  
“The hobbit is sitting right here,” Bilbo interrupted. “And I will not face that dragon again. If that means you will execute me, just get on with it already.”  
“She declared the challenge,” Thorin told Gandalf, ignoring her. “I am as trapped by what she set in motion as she is. Thankfully, she will not succeed.” He did turn to her then, a challenging look on his face daring her to prove him wrong.  
“When did I declare a challenge?” she demanded. “I’m not the one who values shiny rocks more than someone’s life. The only thing trapping us is your foolish pride and petty viciousness.”  
“When you chose to stand on my dais you claimed ownership of my kingdom and challenged my rule,” Thorin said.  
“I did no such thing!”  
“Oh, come now Burglar,” he said. “You outsmarted the dragon—that means you understand that power is in what we do, not what we intend.”  
“I made a mistake!” she exploded. “Gandalf tell him, please!” But when Bilbo looked to the wizard his expression only twisted her stomach up more; Gandalf looked as if he’d bitten into a particularly sour lemon and Bilbo began shaking her head, already denying what she knew he would say.  
“You did issue the challenge,” Gandalf told her begrudgingly. “I thought, perhaps, that your ignorance was reason enough to ignore it, but it appears our good King Under the Mountain has no intention of doing so.”  
“The elves have no intention of doing so,” Thorin spat. “I am merely playing out the reality this foolish hobbit set in motion.” Bilbo wanted to pull her hair out. They were speaking in a language she barely understood, and she was trapped in this blasted bed by her nakedness and injuries, unable to stand up and demand explanations.  
“But I didn’t issue a challenge,” she pressed. “I challenge you—there, that is a challenge!”  
“Save us all from hobbits and their unwary words!” Gandalf cried, rounding on her as Thorin let out a dark laugh.  
“But I wasn’t serious!” she argued. “I was making a point!”  
“The challenge has been issued and affirmed,” Thorin told Gandalf. “You heard her—the contract is binding.”  
“But I wasn’t serious,” she said again.  
“That is inconsequential,” Gandalf sighed. “Whatever hope you had of finding a different path is gone now. You are firmly committed to this one.”  
“No,” Bilbo maintained. “No, I will leave for the Shire and be gone from this place. I will disappear and never set foot in these halls again. I will—"  
“You will accept your next task and you will fail to complete it,” Thorin interrupted her. “And then, and only then, will I consider my honor restored enough to let you go.”  
Bilbo stared at him, shock, rage, and hurt warring inside her. He was chuckling, pleased with himself and so certain of the outcome. She was nothing but a nobody hobbit and he would have his victory over her. Bilbo had never wanted to kill someone before, but, in that moment, she thought she might understand the impulse.  
“I will defeat you Burglar,” he promised, moving to the door. “And then everything will be returned to how it should be.”  
The door shut behind him and Bilbo vowed to herself that she would complete these next two tasks. She would make him regret his pride and overconfidence. And then she would ride home to Bag End a victor, laughing at Thorin’s defeat every step of the way.  
“You don’t want to win this,” Gandalf said, as if reading her thoughts. He walked over to her and pulled her forward so that he could examine the injuries on her back. “Hmm, healing quickly. That, at least, is good news.”  
“Why wouldn’t I want to win this?” she asked, surprised by how much the wizard’s words hurt.  
“Because doing so will cost you everything,” he said succinctly as she sat back again. “Whatever the next task, Thorin will ensure you cannot complete it and that is for the best. Once you fail, he will banish you to the Shire.”  
Bilbo looked away, betrayed by Gandalf’s assessment. He was so sure that she would fail, so sure she wasn’t strong enough to succeed. Taking her silence for assent, the wizard excused himself with promises to return again later with more ointment for her burns along with her dinner, but Bilbo’s thoughts were on other things. What else could this nightmare possibly cost her? She was already risking her life and her sanity.  
No, Bilbo decided shaking her head against Gandalf’s advice; no, she would not accept defeat because they wanted her to. She would not be a sacrifice to Thorin’s bruised pride. She would win, whatever the cost, and she would show them all what a mistake it was to underestimate a Baggins from Bag End.

***

The next night, driven by this new never-ending worry that seemed to have lodged itself in her gut, Bilbo wandered the halls and contemplated what new nightmare Thorin would unleash on her. Tomorrow she would go before him—and all of his guests—to receive her second task. Would he make her fight a troll in hand-to-hand combat? Or perhaps she had to scale the mountain and reach its highest peak? She sighed, trapped by these walls and yearning for the open spaces of her home. The hint of a breeze teased at her and she followed it, shivering but desperate for fresh air. A large ornate door was propped open and through it Bilbo saw a large, beautiful balcony and beyond that…the stars. She walked through, tipping her head up to the night as the cold air nipped at her cheeks.  
Yesterday, Gandalf extracted a very clear, very specific promise from her regarding her behavior. She would watch where she stepped. She would not touch anything. And, above all else, she would not speak without thinking through her words. Bilbo wasn’t used to keeping her guard up all the time; it was exhausting, and she thought it no wonder Thorin was such a miserable creature. He demanded recompense for his slighted honor as if appearance and perception were the same thing as a cozy home and real trust. The more time she spent here the more Bilbo wanted to scream—there was no honor in the games of wicked kings. Real honor was refusing to play.  
She hated that her thoughts were locked on Thorin and the mess of emotions he seemed to leave in his wake. Bilbo wasn’t an angry person and yet with him…it wasn’t his insults or even his dismissal that made her lose all sense. There was no shame in living a life that made things grow; she was a hobbit and a hobbit meant comfort. In Bilbo’s opinion, choosing the softness of her life was a vast improvement over sacrificing everything for greed and power. But he kept insisting that he decided her identity and her worth. He kept insisting he decided everything. It was that she found appalling.  
She heaved a sigh heavy with the weight of her worry. The moon waxed tonight, a chill in the night air promising snow on the horizon. How had she come to this? Every second in Erebor was an interminable torment. Every encounter was an opportunity for an elf or human—or a dwarven king—to mock her clothes and abilities, to make sport of her life. Was their only pleasure in hurting others? Is this what it meant to live as royalty?  
“How can they have so much and know so little?” she asked the night.  
“We know how to build cities out of mountains,” a low voice said behind her and Bilbo spun, her heart leaping into her throat. “We know how to make rivers run with gold.”  
A shiver wracked her that had nothing to do with the cold.  
“We know how to trap a dragon and defend our kingdom,” Thorin said. He walked across the balcony, not stopping until he was once again in her space and she pressed back against the ledge, the cold abyss yawning behind her. “But we know little about hobbits who sit uninvited on our thrones and choose to stargaze on our private balconies.”  
“Your private…” Bilbo trailed off. Her eyes were saucers, mouth forming a horrified “oh” as she finally noticed the royal seal over the door she had mindlessly walked through, lost in her own thoughts.  
Bilbo’s hands clutched the blanket wrapped around her. “I didn’t know—”  
“Do you know the punishment for entering the king’s rooms without his permission?” Thorin asked.  
She closed her eyes and breathed a curse. She could guess. But then her eyes flew open as he leaned in, his body burning like a furnace next to hers. His arms came up—large hands curled over the lip of the railing on either side of her body, imprisoning her. He brought his mouth next to her ear and Bilbo tried to pull back but there was nowhere else to go, no space into which she could retreat except to throw herself off the ledge.  
“If you are a spy,” Thorin whispered into her ear and Bilbo fought to suppress a shudder, “you are truly the worst spy I have ever known.”  
She craned her head away from him. He filled her gaze, and warmed her front, but his presence wasn’t nearly as terrifying as she wanted it to be. He seemed less like a king here in the dark of the night and more like some primal predator, stalking its prey. Her pulse picked up and Bilbo swallowed, unsure where to look, what to say, or how to get away from him.  
“Or,” he continued after a moment, and she tensed at the shift in his tone. He pulled back just slightly to examine her, and his stare was a palpable thing against her skin. “Perhaps, you are not a spy but a seductress. Why else sneak into the King’s rooms alone at night? Do you hope to pay off your debt another way?” He brought a hand up and one finger traced its way down her cheek then her neck. Bilbo shuddered and let out a shocked laugh.  
“Seductress? A fat hobbit?” she mocked him, throwing his words back in his face. “You really are a mad king.”  
“You do make me wonder if I’ve grown mad,” Thorin said, a strange look on his face. “You are no great beauty, and I would never have thought you a warrior. But here you stand having survived the labyrinth. And there is something I find…intriguing about you. What a mystery you’ve turned out to be, my little burglar.” His fingers threaded their way through her hair.  
Bilbo shook her head, hating the way his warm grip made her scalp tingle. “I’m not your little anything,” she said.  
“No,” he agreed, drawing out the word and his eyes slid lazily down her body and back up. “You certainly aren’t little. But you are short.”  
Suddenly breathless and panicked, Bilbo’s hands shot out and she shoved him with all of her strength. She wanted only to knock him back, to reassert space between their bodies, but she might as well have tried to shove the mountain itself. He released his hold on her head only to trap her hands against his chest with his own, and Bilbo tugged, losing her blanket in the process letting the cold wind whip through her thin shirt. His chest was all hot, hard muscle under her palms, and Thorin gave her a dark grin, shifting his grip so that she remained trapped, but he had one hand free. Bilbo yanked futilely against his hold, her panic increasing as her pulse picked up.  
“Is this because you’re cold?” he asked. His other hand came up and before she could even guess at his intentions, he flicked one taut nipple straining against the thin material that covered her. Bilbo gasped and his eyes darkened. “Or is it something else?”  
She was a mess. She flushed with rage, but there was something else there too, some darker feeling she didn’t want to name. He released her hands but took another step, removing that last inch of space between them so that she was overwhelmed by the dueling sensations of the cold stone at her back and his heat at her front.  
“I did not come here to be your entertainment,” she said, her attempts to sound angry undercut by her breathless tone. He traced her jaw, tilting her head up and she tried to swing at him, but he dropped his arms and pinned her again. Stuck, she curled her hands into fists.  
“You would attack your king?” He was the dragon now and she had lost every advantage. Gandalf’s warnings rang in her mind—watch where you step, he said, and she wandered onto the king’s own balcony.  
“I would fight for my freedom,” she answered.  
He leaned down so that his lips were close to her ear again, and Bilbo gritted her teeth at the way his body rubbed against hers. “I will unravel your mystery,” he whispered, his low voice vibrating through her body. “Burglar.”  
“You will have nothing of mine,” she hissed at him, channeling every confusing, conflicting feeling into rage. “And if this torture is to be my second task, I will burn your kingdom down around you.”  
“If you find the thought so repugnant you need only confess your guilt when you appear before me tomorrow,” he growled at her. “Beg me for mercy, tell everyone how you are nothing but a stupid, country hobbit who knew nothing of what she was doing, and I will let you go.”  
Bilbo narrowed her eyes at him. “The only way I will ever beg you is in your dreams.”  
He spun away so fast Bilbo rocked on her feet, the cold rushing back in around her.  
“You will appear before me tomorrow,” he said as he walked away. “If you do not accept my offer and choose to go through with this, I will not be responsible for your safety.” He stepped into the hallway and looked back, the candles illuminating the harsh lines of his features. “Be gone from this place before I return.”  
The door slammed behind him and Bilbo shuddered violently. Picking up the blanket she wrapped it tight around her shivering body and counted to ten once, twice, three times before making her own way through the door. Every nerve seemed to be tingling under her skin and she couldn’t shake the way he had felt pressed up against her.  
When she reached the safety of her own room, she crawled under the covers and buried her face in her pillow. She hated him. Gandalf told her to quit; Thorin demanded she quit, thrashed and turned in the bed unable to make her peace with the idea. If she quit now, he would let her go, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of beating her; she couldn’t, not after he toyed with her like this. Perhaps it was her own pride being foolish now, and perhaps she would fail the second task tomorrow. But Bilbo meant what she said. She would never beg Thorin for mercy. Not even if he threw her back in front of the dragon himself.


	4. The Second Task

Bilbo stood before the court the next day dressed in a pair of sturdy breeches and worked to keep her expression neutral. The guests stood in a half-moon behind her, their unfamiliar faces a blur on the periphery and she ignored their tittering as she waited for Thorin to announce his next torture.

He was sprawled across his throne with a nonchalance that made her want to hit him, and he took his time perusing her. Bilbo boldly met his stare, even as memories of the balcony drew a flush across her skin. His dark robes were open, the casual shirt he wore underneath gaping slightly to expose the tan skin and dark hair of his chest. Bilbo hated that she knew what that chest felt like, how strong and warm she now knew his body to be. He smirked at her and she scowled back. The more time she spent in this blasted mountain, the more her Took side longed for the fight.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin finally said, his deep voice resonating around the hall. “Thrice you insulted me so thrice the price you must pay. You have completed the labyrinth thus two remain. Are you ready to accept your second task?”

Her pulse picked up in anticipation and she raised her chin and stood tall. “I am,” she said clearly. He might think he could bully her, but she had outwitted a dragon, she reminded herself. What was a mad king compared to that?

“Since you love my jewels so much,” Thorin said, “you will be taken to my treasury. There you will find gold beyond your wildest imaginings. But in that treasury will be a single copper penny. Before the sun sets on the morrow you will bring that copper penny here and present it to me. Should you fail I will pronounce my judgement and neither Gandalf nor your tricks will save you.”

Making sure she sounded as unimpressed as possible Bilbo asked, “Is that all?”

She enjoyed the shocked sounds that exploded around her and the way Thorin’s expression tightened. Be polite, Gandalf had said. Watch your words, Gandalf had said. It was sound advice, but Bilbo decided this morning that if she had to be their plaything, she would at least make sure they all knew she despised them for it.

“Until the sun sets on the morrow, Burglar,” Thorin said, refusing her bait. He dismissed her with a gesture and two guards appeared, one on either side, to lead her out of the room.

“It’s not wise to irritate the king,” the guard on her left said after they left the crowd of the throne room far behind.

“I already irritated a dragon,” Bilbo told him with a cheeky grin. “And that mad dwarf is no dragon.”

“Mad or not he’s the king,” the guard reminded her. “And a king’s pride is his power.”

“I wouldn’t push him too far, lass,” the other guard said. “Our king is fighting battles more dangerous and far-reaching than you can know. He doesn’t have time for a single hobbit with a penchant for trouble.”

“He chose this, not me,” Bilbo reminded them sharply. “Any king that would sacrifice a subject over a misunderstanding doesn’t deserve the kingdom he claims to protect.”

The first guard snorted. “Better survive this next task before you start giving advice on ruling a kingdom of dwarves.”

“I’ve almost two full days to find a copper penny,” Bilbo said. “I solved the labyrinth and that had a dragon at the end of it. How hard can it be?”

They came up to two double doors nearly as big as the gates of Erebor and the guards stepped forward, each putting a hand on either side of respective iron rings as big around as Bilbo’s head. Putting their heads down they pushed, the heavy doors groaning as they swung slowly inward.

She stared at the piles of gold and gems. Ornate armors and jewelry wrought with the finest filigree were displayed along walls that went on and on, disappearing into a cavern that extended beyond the candlelight. She half expected to find another dragon hidden in the dark, waiting to devour her while Thorin laughed. There was absolutely no way she could search the entirety of this treasure before sunset tomorrow.

Bilbo Baggins wondered when she was finally going to learn to shut up.

***

An interminable amount of time later, Bilbo cursed her inability to think of a plan other than going through the treasure piece by piece. She didn’t know how much time she had left, but she knew by the candles burning down it wasn’t infinite. Each time they started sputtering, the wax dripping off the sconces, they were replaced silently by dwarven servants who seemed to know exactly when to appear. The second time they entered she asked them for food or, if she was to be denied that, at least some water but they said nothing. But somewhere around the fourth round of candles she turned around and found water, bread, and cheese had appeared as if by magic. Bilbo reminded herself she was too stubborn to lose, that her life was on the line, but there was simply too much treasure for one hobbit to search and she was forced to face it: she needed a plan because what she was doing wouldn’t work.

“Did you honestly think you could simply examine each piece of treasure individually?”

Bilbo didn’t bother to look up. She wasn’t surprised by his presence—somehow, she had known he would be by to gloat. Her response was the soft clink of coins examined and discarded.

“Come Burglar,” he said in a light tone, walking around and dropping to a squat in front of her. “Surely you can speak and search at the same time.”

“It is speech that landed me in this blasted room in the first place,” she grumbled.

“It was not speech,” he corrected her. “It was attempting to steal my crown jewel.”

“I don’t steal!” she shouted at him, her arm launching a gold piece directly at his face.

Thorin blocked it with a hand but fell, sprawling on his backside with legs splayed out in front. Bilbo stared at him and he stared at her, the shock silencing them both. Her heart stopped, stuttered, and began again at twice its normal speed. He was going to kill her. He wouldn’t wait for her to fail at this task. He would murder her right here and she would never see sunlight again. Her bones would be trapped in this mountain and turned to dust and Lobelia would finally be mistress of Bag End.

“You look absolutely terrified,” Thorin said softly, drawing her back from the wilds of her imagination. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

“I mean you did throw me to a dragon,” Bilbo answered him. “So…yeah.”

“And you sincerely don’t understand?” he asked in disbelief. “The strength of a king is in perception. The perception by his subjects that he is worthy of their loyalty and the perception by his enemies that he is too strong to threaten. You challenged that perception when you thought you could touch my throne without consequence, and you continue to challenge it at every turn. In so doing you put the kingdom and all of its subjects at risk.”

She gaped at him, her shock at how certain he was of his rightness when he was so unbelievably, painfully _wrong,_ robbing her of words. She looked back down, more coins sliding through her fingers and tinkling as they landed on their brethren.

“What?” he prompted.

Bilbo shook her head in disgust. “Do you know what I think of this ‘perception’ you’re describing?”

“No but I’m sure you’ll tell me,” he said dryly.

“It’s all a lie,” she said, looking back at him. “You rule not because people love you but because they’re too scared to challenge you. Who checks you when you’re wrong? Who questions your choices when you throw defenseless hobbits to the dragon? You speak as if you can know this perception with certainty and control it but you’re just playing games with other people’s lives.” She spat the last few words at him and then clamped her mouth shut, surprised by her own vehemence. For the briefest instant, she thought she saw regret on his face, but then his features hardened and whatever emotions he felt disappeared behind that icy stare once again. Bilbo told herself she imagined it. After all, what was there to regret over one insignificant hobbit?

“Do you know why rulers execute those who defy them?” he asked.

“Because you’re a tyrant and a madman?” Bilbo quipped.

“Because if we do not then another and then another will rise up,” he explained in a hard tone, “and eventually there will be violence and bloodshed. My dwarves will lay bleeding in my halls, children will cry out for their parents and parents will wail over the corpses of their young. Defiance of the king is tantamount to rebellion and allowing one rebellion invites them all.”

Bilbo looked away from his harsh stare, half-heartedly sorting while she thought through his words. Something in his logic was wrong, she was sure of that, but she couldn’t say what yet. She had never ruled a kingdom—she hadn’t the faintest idea what it meant to carry the lives of subjects on her shoulders, but she knew murdering everyone who stepped out of line wasn’t the only way to do it. It _couldn’t_ be the only way to do it.

“I don’t believe you,” she finally said.

He snorted, burying a hand in a pile and raising a handful of coins to gleam in the light. “And what would a hobbit know about being a king?”

“I know that making things grow takes time and patience,” she said. “And, yes, sometimes you must prune a dead leaf or remove a diseased bush, but you don’t set fire to any plant that grows out of line. You ask yourself if you planted it badly, if maybe _you_ should have gardened better.”

“Every lost life, every starving subject, every family is _my_ responsibility,” he said intently. “When anyone in this kingdom suffers the fault always lies with me and sometimes, when stupid hobbits open their stupid mouths, I am forced to choose between one life and another.”

His words surprised her, and Bilbo stared at him, wondering at what he was playing at. There was no sarcasm in his tone—those words were said wholly in earnest. For a brief moment he almost seemed tortured by his responsibility and it was so at odds with the dismissive tyrant he’d portrayed Bilbo wasn’t sure what to make of it. But then, something glinted at the edge of his collar catching her eye and the beginnings of an entirely different thought took her attention.

“Why did you come here?” she questioned him. “Was it to gloat?”

He shifted his position, the cotton of his shirt bunching with his movement and falling open momentarily to expose more skin. A chain around his neck caught the candlelight as he settled.

“How did you get past the dragon?” he asked in turn. “Dragons are the fiercest and most terrifying creatures in all of Middle Earth. How did you, a lone hobbit who looks like a grocer, go in empty-handed and come out alive? What are your secrets Bilbo Baggins? Are you a threat to my kingdom?”

The material of his shirt draped along the lines of his muscles and something pulled the gold chain around his neck taut, whatever it was still hidden behind the dark cotton.

“Why is Gandalf protecting you?” Thorin continued. “What were your goals in coming here?” He leaned forward, demanding an answer and Bilbo suddenly snorted like a donkey. He looked at her like she’d grown three heads.

“You think I might be a threat?” she laughed. “A spy sent here to uncover your dark secrets? What a world you must inhabit to imagine me some kind of conniving courtier.”

“I don’t know what to imagine,” he said seriously. “I’m at my wit’s end with you.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened as the pieces finally clicked into place. “Wit,” she breathed. “Of course! You’re not a fool.”

“Well, we finally agree on something,” he said wryly.

“In that treasury will be a single copper penny,” she whispered to herself.

“What are you going on about?”

“ _Will. Be._ ” Bilbo launched herself at him.

The element of surprise was her only chance, and she would not waste it. As the entirety of her substantial bulk crashed into him, Thorin flew backwards and flattened beneath her. Bilbo’s hands scrabbled at his shirt, ripping the cotton as she fought to grab the chain she’d glimpsed. Thorin was prideful and vicious but he wasn’t a fool. She had surprised him by surviving the labyrinth, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. When he said she wouldn’t complete the second task it was because he intended to ensure she _couldn’t_ complete the second task.

She got her fingers wrapped around the chain and yanked trying to pull it from his neck, but he recovered quicker than she hoped. With a roar he rolled them, pinning her beneath him as one hand closed around her wrist, the fingers squeezing like a vice. Planting her feet, she thrust up, trying to unseat him and they wrestled across the floor, each vying for dominance over the other. Bilbo fought with her freehand, going for his eyes, his throat, any soft tissue she could reach. Her hand buried itself in his hair and she pulled hard; he roared and reared back, and she used the momentum to roll them again, pinning him under her as the chain finally snapped and pulled free. Triumphantly Bilbo held the ruined golden links high, one single copper penny dangling in the air.

“You had to come here in order to meet the bargain,” she laughed.

Thorin stared up at her, his face a thundercloud. “Yes, and I came alone so that when you figured it out, I could take it back.”

“No,” she said sharply. “That’s…you can’t…that’s against the rules!”

His hands latched onto her hips like iron shackles and Bilbo was suddenly very aware of their position. She was straddling him, his waist caught between her thighs, but even her weight wouldn’t hold him down for long. She had the copper penny, but she still had to present it to him in the throne room and, despite her protestations, there were no rules stating he couldn’t take it back from her before then.

Bilbo had always believed real dignity was found in practicality. There was no such thing as cheating when your safety was on the line. She balled up the hand holding the coin and punched him square in the face. When he released her hips to block her blow, she punched down and behind her with her other hand. His pained shout shook the walls, but she was already scrambling, her knees and palms scraping across stone as she furiously worked to get her feet under her before Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, stopped clutching his crown jewels.

Bilbo raced back to her room nearly as fast as she ran away from the dragon. She ran through her door and slammed it behind her, gasping for breath and clutching at the stitch in her side and seriously wondered why all of these tasks required so much running. Footsteps sounded in the hall and she froze, heart in her throat, until they passed by. There wasn’t much time left until sundown—would Thorin force his way into her room and take the copper penny back? Or, when she presented it to him would he order her executed on the spot? She was still standing there, weight holding the door closed and brain racing through every possible scenario, when the knock finally came startling her out of her wits. The guard’s voice ordered her to the throne room, and she made herself move despite her fear that Thorin would burst through the door at any second. Sliding the copper penny off its delicate chain, she hung it on a leather string, and pulled it over her head so that the cool metal sat between her breasts. Then, feeling like at least it wouldn’t be easy to grab it from her, she bathed and donned clean clothes.

When she arrived, Thorin sat regally on his throne, draped once again in the royal robes with his black hair braided with thin silver chains that matched the crown sitting upon his brow. He watched her approach, the intensity of his stare promising things she didn’t want to think about. She stopped in front of him.

“Have you found the copper penny?”

His voice was cold, his body language disinterested. There was nothing in his attitude or bearing to hint at what transpired between them. Bilbo pulled the leather string out from under her tunic, holding it in front of her so the copper penny dangled for all to see.

“She found it!”

“She’s completed the second task.”

“Do hobbits have magic?

“She must be a witch.”

The whispers swirled around the room. Bilbo’s completion of the second task proved the labyrinth wasn’t a fluke. Somehow, someway, this singularly unimpressive hobbit succeeded where greater beings failed.

“Then you are ready for your third and final task,” Thorin’s deep voice silenced the hall, the whispers subsiding into a low hum as the crowd leaned in, waiting for his pronouncement.

Exhaustion clawed at her, made her brain fuzzy but she knew better than to admit it—he would see that as an advantage. She nodded for him to continue.

“There are ten days of feasting left,” Thorin proclaimed. “You have until Durin’s Day to prove yourself worthy of this court.”

Worthy? Bilbo wanted to scoff. She had outsmarted a dragon and a king. She had defeated a spider as big as a pony and found her way through a winding maze. Bilbo had never been more sure of her worth. But none of that mattered, so in a tired tone she simply asked, “And what else would you have me accomplish?”

“You have challenged a king and insisted on your right to this court.” His voice was strange, the tone one she couldn’t pinpoint. “For your third and final task you will claim that right by presenting your own crown.”

Her confusion twisted her face.

“It can be forged by no hands but your own,” Thorin said. “It cannot be made of any ore that came from this mountain but must be completed with materials found within the borders of my kingdom. Your crown will match mine in beauty and splendor—an equal in every way.”

Bilbo’s eyes traced the delicate lines of his crown, vines and flowers woven together out of metal so fine the very weight of it should have torn it apart. But as she watched, Thorin reached up and took the crown from his head and threw it to the ground. The metal clanged against stone and rolled, stopping between them. It wasn’t so much as dented.

“Beautiful but strong, as practical as it is pleasing,” he gestured and a guard stepped forward, picked up the crown and brought it back to him. “This crown was forged by the dwarven masters of old and there can be none which deny its majesty. Present me your own and I will pronounce my judgement.”

That crafty old bastard, Bilbo thought. She knew nothing about metalcraft and ten days wasn’t enough time to learn how to properly swing a hammer. And even if, by some miracle, she did manage to forge a crown equal to his own, he could assert it too ugly, too weak, too useless. There was no opening Bilbo could see, no path forward that might outsmart him one last time and free her from his torment.

“One more thing,” Thorin said, pulling her from her thoughts. “Gandalf has persuaded me that you deserve a boon. You have completed two tasks after all.” A general murmuring of assent went through the court. “You may have whatever is in my power to give so long as it does not threaten or harm my kingdom in any way.”

Surprised, Bilbo looked at Gandalf, but the old wizard was inscrutable. He was up to something and Bilbo wracked her brain trying to puzzle it out. “This boon,” she asked, “can it be an aid in completing my third task?”

Thorin narrowed his eyes and said, “It may.”

“I know nothing of metalcraft,” Bilbo said, her tired brain building the idea as she spoke. “I will need a teacher.”

He nodded his permission, seeing her request as harmless enough. How much could a hobbit who’d never swung a hammer learn in ten days anyway. “Name your teacher.”

Bilbo licked her lips and swallowed. This was probably a bad idea. What she was thinking was probably a very bad, no good, terribly unwise idea.

“Speak Burglar,” Thorin intoned. “Who do you choose to help you in this task?”

She took a deep breath and said, “You.”

The silence in the throne room was absolute. Would he punish her for her insolence? Declare her boon invalid and have her executed? Bilbo wasn’t sure if this was what Gandalf meant for her to choose, but she hadn’t slept in two days and the old wizard hadn’t bothered to send a note. As her teacher, Thorin’s honor would demand he do everything in his power to help her succeed. Craftsmanship was incredibly important to the dwarves, and those tasked with teaching those skills to others were highly valued. No doubt he thought she would name the royal armorer or jewelsmith.

But the rules of this challenge were entirely subjective, and Bilbo knew he had constructed this task carefully to ensure whatever she did, and however she did it, he could declare it insufficient. Her only advantage lay in using her knowledge of the dwarves against him. As her teacher, dwarven honor demanded that if she, the student, presented something unsatisfactory then he, the teacher, would bear the punishment alongside her. Whatever Thorin did to her for failing this challenge, therefore, he would also have to do to himself. He could still reject the boon, but his words had been the unwary ones this time; this was in his power to give and it didn’t threaten or harm his kingdom in any way.

But he did not reject her. Instead, Thorin looked like he wanted to kill her on the spot, and Bilbo suppressed her smile. She had him trapped by that precious pride he held so dear.

“The boon has been offered and accepted,” he said in a voice that gave nothing away. “Starting tomorrow I will accept our dear Burglar as my student. Dwalin, Balin, please escort our guest back to her rooms.”

The same guards as before approached her, and Bilbo followed them in silence as they led her away.

“You’re full of surprises lass,” the guard on her right said. He nodded at the other guard, “Dwalin over there thinks you’re on the market for a dwarven husband.”

Bilbo barked a laugh surprising both of them. “I assure you I’m not looking for any husbands, especially not dwarven ones.”

“Then why are you fighting to so hard to win?” Dwalin asked her gruffly. “Why keep playing these games with Thorin?”

Bilbo stared at the guard in disbelief. “I don’t have a _choice_.”

“Thorin won’t kill you lass,” Balin said.

“Not unless you make him,” Dwalin added.

Bilbo wondered if she and the guards were talking about the same king. “I cannot imagine the great King under the Mountain much cares whether one hobbit lives or dies. Especially when watching her dance on the end of a string is such good sport,” she told them both bitterly.

“Thorin takes no pleasure in hurting others,” Balin said.

Bilbo made a rude noise.

“That stunt you pulled in the throne room,” Dwalin said bluntly, “the one that started all of this. You tried to touch things that didn’t belong to you, a very serious offense amongst dwarves, and then you challenged him in front of everyone. You practically dared him to execute you on the spot.”

“I did no such thing,” she argued.

“Aye lass, you did,” Balin said, his tone gentler than Dwalin’s. “Thorin had to punish you—you made that part inevitable. He tried to have us cart you to the dungeons where you would have spent the night and been released the next day. Instead, you and that Gandalf called him ten kinds of a fool and backed him into a corner.”

“So this is my fault?” Bilbo couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She didn’t know what she expected—these were dwarves after all and Thorin was their king—but understanding she was alone was one thing. Being explicitly reminded of it…stung. It was a ridiculous response, and Bilbo scolded herself for it. She needed to sleep and get her head back on straight. These two dwarves were the king’s personal guard for goodness sake, and one brief conversation did not make them her new best friends.

They finished the walk to her room in silence, but Bilbo felt this strange need to be understood building inside her with every step. She wanted them to know how scared she was, how foreign it felt to be caught in this mountain and turned into a plaything for a mad king. Every day here felt like another part of her was being carved away, scorched like the skin of her back.

“He threw me to the dragon,” she whispered as they came to a stop in front of her door. She didn’t know why she said it. They wouldn’t care. But it was a _dragon_. Thorin had condemned her to death by dragon.

“Thranduil did that,” Balin said gently. She looked at him, surprised by the kindness in his gaze, and the old dwarf continued. “The Elven king has no love for the dwarves of Erebor nor we for him. Thorin is a hard ruler, there’s no doubt about that, but he’s never been a cruel one. Before you, only two types went into the labyrinth—idiot warriors determined to prove themselves and criminals who chose to take their chances rather than be executed.”

Bilbo shook her head, confused.

“Thranduil knew you were no real threat to Thorin,” Dwalin explained. “And he knows Thorin doesn’t enjoy torture. Once you challenged his power like that Thorin couldn’t let it go and Thranduil’s suggestion of the labyrinth meant the only choices were to execute you on the spot, let you go and look weak in front of the elves and humans in attendance, or have you thrown in.”

“But everyone’s reminded me at every opportunity that no one has made it out before,” Bilbo said. “It was the same as carrying out an execution.”

“It gave you a chance, however small,” Dwalin said seriously. “We none of us expected you to survive but going to war would mean a lot more deaths beside yours. Thorin made the fairest choice he had left.”

“When you burst out of that door I about died of fright,” Balin chuckled. “You won me over that day, and you should know I’m rooting for you.”

“No one expected me to survive,” Bilbo repeated. She couldn’t understand why they all kept treating this like it was some kind of a game.

“Thorin’s choice was to gamble your life or the lives of his subjects,” Balin said. “He took the best of the worst choices.”

“He gave you a chance,” Dwalin said. “It’s more than I’d have done.”

“Are you all in the habit of murdering guests over misunderstandings?” she demanded. What was wrong with these dwarves?

“If you invite us in, I’ll make a cup of tea and explain,” Balin said. Bilbo realized then she had said that last bit out loud.

She shrugged and stepped forward, opening the door and ushered them inside. Bilbo Baggins wasn’t sure she wanted to know any more about these blasted dwarves and their ridiculous logic, but she had one more task to complete and no idea how to do it. Research seemed as good a place to start as any.

They settled in front of the fire, Dwalin making the tea and Bilbo found herself dozing before it was ready as the warmth seeped into her. Finally, when she wasn’t sure she could keep her eyes open another second, Balin began to speak.

“Do you know about Thorin’s past?” Balin asked.

Bilbo shook her head, rousing herself and holding her cup before her in both hands.

“Thorin’s grandfather was king when the dragon came,” Balin said. “He’d succumbed to madness; his wealth and power ate away his mind until there was nothing left but greed and desire. Thror taxed the people past starvation, he worked the miners until dwarves fell to their deaths, too exhausted to keep their balance. Thrain, Thorin’s father, argued with him constantly but he couldn’t depose his own father. Thorin began sneaking gold out of the treasury and redistributing it to the dwarves most in need.”

Bilbo didn’t believe a word of it. The Thorin she knew was hard and selfish; the only redistribution she could imagine him leading was the redistribution of heads from bodies. It seemed far more likely these were stories Thorin spread to secure the loyalty of his subjects.

“When the dragon came it was a slaughter,” Balin went on. “Our people were starved and ill prepared for any battle, let alone one against a full-grown dragon. Thror was killed in the attack and Thrain and Thorin got as many out of the mountain as they could. Our only hope lay in the wizard who visited us from the south.”

“Gandalf?” Balin shook his head.

“He called himself Saruman,” he said. “And he warned us his price would be steep. Later, when Gandalf discovered another wizard had intervened, he was furious—he said that wasn’t the role they were meant to play, but we would have paid the Dark Lord himself if it meant we got our home back. Saruman remade the heart of the mountain; his magic trapped the dragon inside that labyrinth and made it safe for the dwarves of Erebor to return. But there was a problem. He also trapped all the riches of the kingdom too and what little gold was left he took for himself, disappearing back to the south and leaving us penniless with burnt crops and no stores heading into winter.”

Her heart twisted at Balin’s words and Bilbo cursed her exhaustion. She didn’t care about the plight of these dwarves, she reminded herself, or how they came to be. She simply wanted to know what would help her complete this last task so she could go home and never think about any of them, or their trapped dragon, again.

“Thrain took the throne and immediately went to the neighboring lands for help but the humans and elves told us it was our fault the dragon came,” Balin said, bitterness creeping into his tone for the first time. “They refused us all aid, even scraps and blankets for our children and wounded. Thorin set out to find work. He left his home and his birthright and humbled himself to feed his people. That copper penny you now wear around your neck was the first coin he earned.”

Her hand clutched the coin through her shirt, her fingers tracing the edges through the material.

“Thorin secured the coin that got us through the winter,” Balin continued, “and then, just when we thought he might come home Thrain sent him on a fool’s errand. There was treasure, he said, the treasure of ancient dwarven kingdoms. It was Thorin’s duty as the prince and heir to lead our warriors and secure it. Our orders were to return the glory of our ancestors to Erebor.”

Balin paused, taking a long sip of his tea and Dwalin made a rude noise.

“Thrain was as mad as his father,” Dwalin said. “That treasure was taken by the orcs long ago and trying to take it back was sure suicide.”

“So, you returned with nothing?” Bilbo asked.

“Oh no,” Balin said. “Thorin led us into battle and fought alongside us. It was bloody and vicious, some of the worst fighting I’ve ever seen.”

“Aye,” Dwalin whispered. They both trailed off, their gazes haunted as they stared into the fire.

“Thorin battled the great orc leader Azog,” Balin said as the flames danced. “His sword shattered under the blows and we watched in horror, powerless, unable to get to our prince in time. But he dodged Azog’s blows rolling this way and that, until suddenly he rose, a great oaken branch in his hands. Azog’s blade came down and Thorin blocked it—it was as if the branch itself swallowed the orc’s sword. With a mighty yank he disarmed the monster then swung the branch back, the crack of his skull marking the turn of battle. Then Thorin pulled Azog’s own weapon out of the branch and struck, felling the orc and breaking their ranks. Without their leader they panicked, and chaos swept across the field. We routed them, climbing over corpses piled six deep in places until we had killed or run off every last one.”

“Thorin demanded we find every one of our dead,” Dwalin told her. “The bonfires burned for days. The smoke was still visible as we marched back to Erebor with the gold so many died for.”

“We returned to find Thrain gone and the kingdom in chaos,” Balin said, setting his tea down in front of him. “The humans of Dale were scattered, and Lake-Town nipped at our borders from the south while Thranduil pushed in from the west. Thrain ran off on some fool adventure seeking riches and glory—he wasn’t interested in a poor kingdom under siege. Thorin rebuilt our defenses and our army. We set up patrols to protect the dwarves living outside the mountain and their farms and he threatened to release the dragon unless Mirkwood and Lake-Town paid tribute.”

“I heard rumors of the dragon of Erebor, but I never thought they were true,” Bilbo said solemnly. “I thought they were stories and wild tales spread to fuel the reputation of a greedy king.”

“Thorin has ruled with one goal in mind,” Balin stated. “To minimize the loss of dwarven life. The years after the dragon’s attack were long and barren. We lost so many of our people that Thorin would do anything, even sacrifice one foolish hobbit, if it meant avoiding another war.”

“We do not crave violence,” Dwalin said, eyes flinty. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t understand its necessity.”

Bilbo sat horrified by what they described, astonished by the cruelty of the humans and elves. When they finally excused themselves, Balin begging Bilbo’s forgiveness for going on so long, Dwalin silent and stern, she returned to the fire watching the images Balin’s words conjured in the flames. Her hand clutched the copper penny and she squeezed it, the edges of the coin biting into her skin. She refused to feel sorry for their king or the choices he had to make, but that didn’t mean her heart was hardened to all the dwarves caught up in these games between kings just as she was now.

She would never think of Thorin Oakenshield as anything but the villainous mad king, she promised herself. And yet, when she finally crawled into bed, exhaustion pulling at her bones, his words from the treasury echoed in her mind _. Every lost life, every starving subject, every family is my responsibility_ , he had said, _and sometimes I am forced to choose between one life and another_. What would she do, Bilbo wondered, if faced with such a choice? Would she protect the life in front of her even if it meant putting the lives of the future at risk or would she play the game and protect the many even if it came at the expense of the few?

“He is a villain!” she said out loud. Her only response was the crackle and pop of the fire, but as sleep finally pulled her into oblivion, she heard the uncomfortable truth echoing in the silence. Sometimes the only difference between a villain and not a villain was how compelling one found their reasons.


	5. The Third Task

The next day passed with Bilbo wondering if she was supposed to seek Thorin out or begin the task herself. She sought out the forges on her own, but without anyone to help guide her she was lost; even watching the dwarves at work gave her no ideas for how she might complete this it. Disheartened, she returned to her room and began contemplating how she would demand Thorin live up to his promise as she ate her dinner. She had just finished her first draft of a strongly worded letter when there came a knock at her door. She opened it and was surprised to find a scowling Thorin on the other side. He had no guards, no royal robes—instead, he wore clothes clearly meant for tough work by a blazing furnace. His hair was braided back and tied, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up over muscled forearms that caught Bilbo’s attention and distracted her momentarily.

“Am I teaching you today or not?” he snapped. Clearly, he had left his patience with his guards.

“I—,” Bilbo stuttered, “yes, of course.”

Thrown off balance by her reaction to his appearance more than his sharp tone, she closed her door and followed him through the halls of the mountain. He set a brisk pace and she scrambled to keep up. It was quiet; the sun had set hours ago, and their footsteps echoed across silent stone as they wove their way through the mountain. Bilbo examined him as they walked; this was the first time she had been this close to him when he wasn’t harassing and intimidating her on a balcony or mocking her and wrestling with her over a coin. She was willing to admit he wasn’t physically unattractive; there was something in his differences from hobbit men that drew her eye. His musculature was more pronounced—he seemed to have more hair everywhere else (except for his feet). But the tales Balin shared last night left her curious in ways she wasn’t yet ready to admit. This was the Thorin that humbled himself for his people? This was the Thorin that didn’t revel in the possibility of her death?

“Keep up,” he barked, startling her out of her thoughts. Mouthing a silent curse Bilbo ran after him, and then cursed again when she stubbed her toe for the third time.

“Thorin!” she shouted, pausing to rub her foot. “Will you _please_ slow down?”

He stopped immediately, spine stiff and when he turned, Bilbo regretted saying anything. He was obviously furious with her, but she had no clue why—except even as she wondered what drove his temper, she remembered the sound of his howl as her fist smashed all his tender bits. She backpedaled as he approached until her back hit unyielding rock. He loomed over her, cutting off any escape.

“You’re angry at me,” she said, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

His face split in a smile, but it wasn’t a kind one. Bilbo pressed herself harder against the wall. “And why, pray tell, would I be angry with you?” he asked.

“Because I asked you to teach me? Or…” she trailed off and looked down. In a whisper she finished, “or because of the other thing.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and Bilbo squirmed under the scrutiny. It felt like he was trying to look through her, trying to solve some riddle locked inside that only he could see. She didn’t like this feeling that he was seeing more of her than she wanted him to.

“Do you know what I was going to do when you failed this challenge?” he asked, his tone dangerously soft.

Bilbo shook her head.

“Banish you,” he said simply. “That was it. I was going to show mercy and banish you back to the Shire as you have so desperately begged of me.”

“I wouldn’t say I begged,” she muttered.

“But now?” he asked her. “What am I supposed to do now? It’s like you don’t actually want to leave Erebor.”

“Of course I want to leave!” she burst out, her eyes shooting to his. Their faces were inches apart and Bilbo stared at him, confused why she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Was it fear? No, she wasn’t afraid, but she was…anxious. When he was close to her like this she didn’t know where to look or how to act. His presence made her hyper-aware of her body, the sudden self-consciousness choking her, and her confusion over _that_ response only made her more irritable.

“Do dwarves not understand personal space?” she demanded, shoving at him futilely. But instead of stepping back, he smirked at her and took another step forward, closing the gap between their bodies. “What are you—”

“Stop talking,” he growled at her as took her jaw in his hand. “I’m not giving you another chance to attack me.”

Bilbo flushed.

“Nothing you say is true and I’m tired of trying to sort through your lies,” he whispered as his eyes scanned her face.

Bilbo wished she had a witty retort to that or at least an indignant response. She certainly didn’t want him to think she was being quiet because he said so. He turned her face from one side to the other, and she ground her teeth through the inspection. She hated how her pulse picked up at his touch and she tried to take shallow breaths, annoyed by the way his scent invaded her with every inhale. There was a spiciness to it, similar to the incense that often burned around the mountain, and a hint of mint on his breath. They stared at each other a long while, her face tipped up to his, and her eyes dropped to his lips. Was he as callous and self-absorbed making love as he seemed? Or would he be more like what Balin described? Thoughtful and kind, putting his partner first? He was passionate, she bet, and she wondered how all that passion…

Bilbo gaped in horror as she realized what she was thinking, realized what him crowding her space was making her think.

“Get…a…way from me!” she screamed, shoving him with all her might. Thorin released her and stepped back, his expression as irritable as she felt.

“Don’t act as if you’re the victim here.”

Bilbo bared her teeth. “The next time you decide to manhandle me I’m going to punch first and yell later,” she snarled at him.

“If you strike a dwarf without good reason, dwarven law demands you serve them until it’s proven you’ve done no harm,” he smirked. “It’s on the wrongdoer to ensure everything is…working right.”

“There is no such law,” she said, face flushing.

“Then try to hit me again and find out,” he challenged her. Bilbo looked away, hating that he won this round. She didn’t like how he kept invading her space and she liked even less her strange response to it. More and more, she felt like he had the advantage, and she was floundering—like he was casting a spell on her that drained her will.

She would not give in, Bilbo thought viciously glaring daggers at his back. She would complete this final, stupid task and she would put him in his place once and for all.

The heat spiked as they approached the forges and she was surprised to find they were still going, despite the late hour. Thorin led her to a workspace far away from the others, and he turned away from her, examining the tools and preparations for their work. He lifted a hammer and handed it to her without looking, and Bilbo imagined swinging it at the back of his head.

“If you’re going to murder me, Burglar,” he said over his shoulder, “I strongly suggest you pick a better moment.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she said under her breath.

“I heard that.”

***

Three agonizing days of fire and pain later, Bilbo drank water in huge desperate gulps. Thorin was a thorough teacher, she had to give him that, but once they’d walked through what everything was and moved on to using it, she was utterly lost. The heat was making her dizzy and her shirt was crusty and stiff with dried sweat. And her arms, dear, sweet, mercy, her arms. Even raising the ladle of water made her wince. Every time she tried to swing the hammer the confounded metal split and cracked and bent in every way except the way she intended. Durin’s Day loomed nearer and nearer, and her task remained painfully out of reach.

“You didn’t even stoke the fire properly!” Thorin yelled at her. “We both know this task is beyond you, but the least you could do is build a proper fire.”

With a tired sigh, Bilbo wiped sweat from her brow.

“By adolescence every dwarf knows to respect the heart of the fire,” Thorin said, looking on her attempt with disgust.

“It’s the only heart you respect,” she mumbled. He grunted in response, unamused as always, and then muscled her out of the way. With expert motions he changed the raging flames of Bilbo’s attempts into something both more controlled and more intense.

“But I did that,” Bilbo started, as frustrated by her own ineptitude as he was, “and it—"

“Quiet,” Thorin ordered her. “I am here to teach you, not listen to you.”

Bilbo felt her spine stiffen. “I forgot toys aren’t supposed to talk,” she retorted.

“Shut up and come here.” 

Ignoring the heat and the sparks Bilbo sidled up and observed him. Their position reminded her of the days she spent shadowing the Old Gaffer. No one grew a vegetable or talked a tree tall and straight like him and Bilbo had clung like a burr until she was confident she knew his secrets. Thorin thought she was unteachable, he had made _that_ abundantly clear, but Bilbo knew there was a way through this. She just had to survive this blasted fire until she found it.

Every night he came and got her, and they worked together for hours; tonight was no exception even though Bilbo could see the way exhaustion made them both even more irritable than usual. Still, his explanations were detailed as he worked through the process of fixing her fire and began hammering iron, the impurities sparking away with each hit. Thorin ordered her to small tasks which she completed silently while her complaints raged in her head. And yet, even she had to admit she was learning. By the time they stopped on the fourth night, she could finally maintain a proper fire and she thought she could see the twisted heart burning at its core he kept going on about.

The next day followed the same pattern and the one after that. Thorin had begun working on his own project, claiming if he had to be there, he might as well get some work done. While taking a break, her arms burning with the exertion, she watched as he worked tirelessly. The fire danced across his skin, highlighting the lines and ridges of his muscles and, unbidden, Balin’s story came back to her. What must it have been like for him, humbling himself before men and elves to save his people? What had he made in those early years to help them survive? Shaking the questions from her mind Bilbo turned back to her own work and picked up the hammer. It was hopeless, she knew that, but she had to try. She refused to believe there was no answer; perhaps this was not the way she could complete this task, but until she found something better, she had no choice but to keep trying.

“No!” Thorin’s voice boomed, halting her mid-stroke. “You’re hitting it all wrong!”

“I’m hitting it the way I’m hitting it,” Bilbo replied, giving him a tired look. “I suppose now is when you’ll remind me, this is all pointless and I have no hope?”

“You don’t need me to remind you of that,” he said and then he was stalking towards her, brows lowered and eyes flashing. She rolled her eyes, her next quip on the tip of her tongue, but he suddenly spun her so she faced the anvil. He wrapped his arms around her and placed his hand over hers, where she gripped the hammer.

“What are you—” she began.

“When you strike,” Thorin explained, his voice rumbling against her back, “you move your arm like this.” He lifted her hand in his and brought the hammer down, forcing her body to mimic his movements.

“Get away, it’s too hot,” she said but his other hand came around and gripped her hip, holding her still in front of him.

“Hush,” was all he said.

Bilbo didn’t like it. His low voice crawled into her ear without her permission making her shiver despite the heat. The hammer came down again and again, Thorin working her like a marionette, and for a moment Bilbo forgot she hated him as the metal took shape in front of her. There was a beauty in this—the orange red of the forges and the sweltering heat made everything glisten; the intractable became malleable and Bilbo began to feel like she was being reshaped with every hit of the hammer not the metal. Moving her hand in his, Thorin put down the hammer and picked up their work with the tongs, then extended their arms until the cooling metal was back in the heart.

His chest rubbed her back with each motion, and she felt surrounded by him. His efforts at teaching her were sincere and even their regular exchange of barbs had become more habit than intentional. Away from the court and their precious “perceptions” he cared so much about, she began to see the Thorin Balin had described. Bilbo didn’t want to, but she could imagine, for the first time, why the dwarves gave him their loyalty. And, with every touch, a heat more dangerous than flame licked along her skin. Bilbo tensed, the panic building inside her.

“Wait,” she said, tugging back on her hand more forcefully. “Stop.” She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to think of him as anything other than a mad king. She didn’t like the way his presence was starting to feel… _familiar_. He ordered her into a labyrinth. He ordered her to find a copper penny. And now he ordered her to the forge. Always he ordered her, and always she had no real power to resist.

Thorin didn’t immediately let go. “What?”

“Stop,” she said stronger, yanking her hand free of his and stepping out and away from his embrace. “Why are you doing this?”

His expression rippled with an emotion she couldn’t name. “What do you mean?”

“Why,” Bilbo breathed out, drawing on her anger to remember why she was here, why she couldn’t leave, “are you trying so hard to help me? You know why I demanded you teach me as my boon, and you know I could never learn to craft a crown equal to yours in such a short amount of time. And yet…yet…every day you show up willingly? You treat me like I might actually learn? Since when are you on my side?!”

He stared at her, perplexed, but his confusion only enraged her more. How dare he act like they were here—like _she_ was here—because she wanted to be.

“You’ve given me an impossible task,” she went on, voice rising. “Three, actually. And every time I complete one there’s another—it’s never enough. How dare you act like this when all you’ve done is try to kill me since I got here!” She finished on a yell and his features went stony, that familiar cold anger she was used to settling into place. Something inside her breathed a sigh of relief; she understood his anger. She understood him so long as he was her adversary.

“You are the most difficult, ridiculous, impossible person I’ve ever had in my court,” he snarled. “If I wanted you dead do you honestly think you’d be standing here right now? Why else would your second task be in my treasury? I could have thrown you back to the dragon!”

“Then why didn’t you?!”

“Has it not occurred to you,” he growled, eyes flashing, “that you carry some of the blame for our current predicament?”

“And what predicament would that be,” she shot back. “Your inability to beat me with these ridiculous tasks you’ve set forth? _I_ was ready to leave after the labyrinth. _You_ said I had to stay!”

He let loose a stream of curses and spun, stalking away from her and out of the forge. Needing to take her rage out on something, Bilbo kicked the pile of ore and then hopped around nursing a sore foot as she cursed dwarves, mountains, dragons, and the stupidity of all royalty.

“I don’t deny he can be a frustrating dwarf, but you’ll hurt yourself trying to take it out on the rock,” a dwarf said, walking up to her. “Master Nori, at your service.”

It had been so long since Bilbo had needed proper manners, she embarrassed herself trying to reply. Nori took pity on her and walked over to the water barrel where he took a long drink.

“I’m sorry to lose my temper like that,” Bilbo apologized, sinking down onto a bench. “I just don’t think I can forge a crown to match his.”

“Aye,” Nori agreed, sitting down next to her. “I don’t think ye can either.” There was something about this dwarf that reminded Bilbo of the Old Gaffer—he had that same easy manner that made a person feel like they could trust him.

“But you know,” Nori added after a moment, “when you came out of that labyrinth a lot of us were mighty impressed. We thought, some of us, that throwing you in there—even after what you said—was too harsh.”

“But no one said anything,” Bilbo said sullenly.

“He’s our king,” Nori shrugged. And just as with Balin, Bilbo couldn’t deny the sting of being made to feel so disposable.

“What do think he will do to me if I fail?” she asked.

“What were your instructions for this task,” Nori asked her instead. “What must you accomplish specifically?”

“Uh,” Bilbo looked up at the ceiling as she recalled the words. “It can be forged by no hands but mine,” she remembered. “And it can’t be made of any ore from this mountain, but I have to use materials from his kingdom. It must be the equal of his in every way. Beautiful, practical, and strong.”

“Hmm,” Nori grunted, his lower lip sticking out as he thought over her words. “Did you know some dwarves are farmers?”

“I do,” Bilbo laughed. “Though I can’t imagine Thorin on his knees in the dirt pulling weeds.”

“Thorin has already proven he would do whatever it takes to feed his people,” Nori said meaningfully.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” she apologized, remembering Balin’s story. “So, what made you think about farmers?”

“They live just past the slopes of the mountain,” Nori told her. “Some nearer to Lake-Town than here. Winter is nearly upon us, but they’re still working hard, bringing the late crops in. Some tend the pine trees that stay evergreen, even in the winter.”

“I’ve always loved gardening,” Bilbo told him. “When I was young, I would braid flowers and vines into springtime crowns, and we’d prance around the Shire in them.”

“Iron can build a kingdom and hold up rock,” Nori said. “But it’s not strong enough to bend. If it’s left untended it rusts and crumbles away. Not like vines that grow wild. They’re strong enough to pull down a house.”

“Huh,” Bilbo said and then, like a spark from a hammer strike, she had an idea. “Thank you, Master Nori, I’ve got to go!”

She was up and away, racing back to her chambers so fast she never noticed Master Nori’s small smile.

*******

Bilbo raced around her room—she took a quick bath, the crusted sweat of the forge making her skin itch—but now she pulled on breeches and a coat, finding a small sack and some bread and cheese and tied her small sword to her belt. When she was ready, she ran and grabbed her door…and stopped.

How was she going to get out of Erebor? The guards weren’t going to let her walk out without an escort and, if she went to Thorin and asked for one, she worried he would say no. She paced around her room; her hands pulled at her hair in frustration. She was so close! This could work—it had to work—if she could only find a way…an idea formed. Another one of her terrible, ridiculous ideas. Bilbo walked back to her small balcony and looked down—it was a long drop from her room, but she was sure she could make out a path, winding its way down the mountain to the ground far below. Not stopping to question her own idiocy, she tore her bedclothes from the bed and went to work.

She made short work of the sheets, tearing and tying them until she had something she hoped would hold her. Securing one end to the heavy bed frame, Bilbo tossed the other end out the window, sent up a prayer, and began the terrifying job of climbing down a mountain using nothing but sheets.

Working her way down, swaying in the wind, was not easy. Her terror spiked as she began to run out of material, realizing her makeshift rope wasn’t long enough. She thought she could manage the final drop, but the path was narrow and there was no room for error. Telling herself she had no time to question her life choices, Bilbo shimmied the last few feet until she hung, clinging to the very last bit. Then, hoping she wasn’t about to save Thorin the trouble of executing her, she let go.

She landed hard and rolled then flailed as she slid closer to the edge. Bilbo just managed to stop her momentum; her palms were scrapped and bleeding, and one fingernail broke where she’d dug it into hard stone.

“But you’re alive,” Bilbo told herself, pushing to her feet with a wince. “And you’re outside.”

_She was outside_. The sunlight felt strange on her skin and she blinked back tears as a cold wind froze her cheeks. Being outside after so many days—being free of that blasted mountain—was a sudden, vicious reminder of all she had lost by agreeing to come here. There was a sharp pain in her chest, and she swallowed convulsively, working to push the sobs back down that suddenly wanted to burst out. One more task, Bilbo told herself. She only had to complete one more task.

It didn’t take long to find the farms Nori described, or to see the green needles of the pine trees. By the time she reached the first copse, clouds rolled in enveloping her in their haze and the wind picked up bringing with it a sharp chill. Bilbo smelled snow on the air, and she hurried her steps, stopping to pick some late season berries and collect a couple pinecones. Then she headed further away from the mountain, following the river south.

She wasn’t sure how long she searched before she found some brown vines creeping up the edge of a small shack. The clouds had thickened, obscuring the sun’s position and the temperature was dropping. If only she had thought to wait for a more hospitable climate, she chuckled, securing her small sack of goods to her belt. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, and began the long trek back. Bilbo had to finish this thing. She would stand before Thorin and complete her third task and then she would ride back to the Shire and never think of him—or his deep voice or his blue eyes or his hard muscles—ever again. Snow was falling now, a gentle hush settling over the land and if she’d been at Bag End with her pipe and a warm blanket Bilbo would have sat outside a while, enjoying it before returning to her cozy fire.

But she didn’t have a pipe or a warm blanket and as the wind blew harder Bilbo became aware of how thin her jacket was. The air leeched heat from her body and she raised a hand, trying to block the snow that was coming down harder, the gusts blowing tiny icicles into her face. She put her head down and walked, her eyes focused on the ground in front of her as she trudged along.

She was back at the mountain and had just started the long climb back to the gates when her foot came down on a rock. Her ankle rolled and Bilbo cried out in agony; she went down hard, hitting her head and rolled onto her back her tears freezing on her cheeks. She was soaked through, shivering and miserable, and she clutched at her throbbing foot. She was going to freeze to death right here at the base of the mountain. She survived a dragon and climbing down sheets and a blasted rock would be the death of her.

She rolled to her stomach and pushed up on her hands and knees. _No_ , Bilbo told herself. _You are_ not _going to die out here. You are going to climb this mountain and live to see the look on Thorin’s face when you beat him._

She stood up dizzily, gritting her teeth through the pain began hobbling forward. The pain was intense, but it distracted her from the cold. She took step after agonizing step and her skin numbed and then her shivers stopped. She wasn’t even sure how she was still moving when she heard a voice call to her over the storm.

“Ho! Who goes there!”

Blinking up through frozen eyelashes Bilbo saw she was standing before the gates of Erebor, the guards looking down at her with confusion.

“Oh good,” she sighed. “I’m back.” And then she fell over and embraced the painless dark that rushed up to reach her.

***

The dark was deliciously numb, Bilbo thought. There was no pain and no dwarves, no more impossible tasks to complete—all she had to do was sleep. But something kept shaking her, pulling her back from the brink, and Bilbo swatted at it, wanting to be left alone. Wanting to be numb.

“Wake up you stupid hobbit, and answer me!”

Bilbo swatted again. It was like hitting a rock.

“Stupid, fool hobbit!” There was another vicious shake and Bilbo peeled her eyes open to see stone and candles flowing around her. No, that wasn’t quite right; she was walking down the corridors of Erebor. No that wasn’t right either.

“Burglar!” said an insistent voice. Bilbo looked up into Thorin’s worried face. He was carrying her.

“Am I hallucinating you?” It wasn’t a dream at all but a nightmare. She couldn’t even escape him in unconsciousness.

“If you were hallucinating me I would I be carrying your ridiculous self back to your room?” he asked. “How did you even get out there?”

“Farmers,” she said in a sleepy voice, letting her eyes drift shut again. She didn’t hate being carried by Thorin as much as she thought she would.

Thorin cursed and shook her again, refusing to let her sleep. His chest rumbled under her cheek as he talked to someone she couldn’t see. “Go find Oin and Gandalf, tell them to meet us in her chambers.”

Bilbo tried to ask him what was happening, why he was carrying her, but all that came out was a pained moan.

“I know,” he said and, if Bilbo hadn’t been near death, she would have sworn he sounded worried. “We have to get you out of these soaked clothes and warmed up.”

Despite Thorin’s jostling, Bilbo slid in and out of consciousness. She came to as he pushed through the door to her room and then again when she was laid on the ground. Someone immediately removed her soaked coat and then she was laying back on a warm pelt beneath her. She could hear the fire and groaned again as its heat stung her icy skin. Someone sat down next to her and began tugging at her clothes and Bilbo opened her eyes to see Thorin trying to get her wet shirt loosened so he could pull it over her head.

Bilbo swatted at him feebly.

“Why are you so stubborn,” he growled, giving her a hard shake when she began to slip away again. “You have to put on dry clothes before you freeze to death.”

“I’ll do it,” she said and Thorin simply cocked an eyebrow at her.

She tugged ineffectually at her garments, her numb hands and lethargic mind making her movements slow and exhausting.

“I’m not interested in your virtue,” Thorin told her when she fell back against the floor unable to make her arms go above her head. “Let me help you.”

“Since when do you want to help me,” Bilbo gritted out.

“You’re going to freeze to death.”

“I don’t want your help!”

There was a long pause and then Bilbo felt a tug on her shirt and opened her eyes as Thorin sliced the material open with his dagger. She twisted weakly, but he simply pulled her upright and stripped the ruined material before laying her back down. He pulled another blanket from behind him and tucked it around her and then gave her another impatient look.

“What now?” she asked him.

“Are you going to take off your pants or should I.”

With curses at him and then more curses in general when her sore ankle banged on the stone as she wriggled out of the last of wet clothes under the blanket, Bilbo finally finished the job. She pulled the pants out from under the warm furs and threw them in Thorin’s face.

“There,” she said mulishly. That she started to feel better almost immediately only irritated her more.

Thorin ignored her muttered insults as he fussed over her, making sure she was warming up and checking her hands and feet for frostbite.

“Why are you doing this,” she whispered as he sat back once again. “What does a king care about a prisoner?”

“Prisoner,” he asked in a soft voice. “Is that what you think you are?”

“Isn’t that what I am?” she asked softly, heedless of the tears leaking from her eyes. “I’m trapped in this mountain waiting for you to pronounce judgment over my life.”

“I’ll admit it’s…complicated,” Thorin muttered.

“It’s not complicated,” she said. “I’m a prisoner.”

“You’re not a prisoner,” Thorin said stubbornly.

“What would you call me then?”

“A most frustrating hobbit,” said Gandalf as he swept into the room followed by Oin and Balin.

Thorin moved away and Oin and the wizard began fussing over her. Oin looked at her head, his fingers cool and professional as he felt her skull, then he turned his attention to her foot. Bilbo looked around the room, but something kept drawing her gaze back to Thorin and the tension radiating from him. He had carried her back here, had tended to her until Gandalf arrived—why? Why show her kindness now, when he could have left her outside and been assured of his victory?

_If I wanted you dead, do you honestly think you would be standing here right now?_

“It’s only a sprain,” Oin said. “But a nasty one.”

_I was going to show mercy and banish you back to the Shire as you have so desperately begged of me._

She hissed as he moved her foot and then sighed as some kind of ointment was rubbed into her skin. The pain lessened almost immediately, a soothing sensation replacing the throbbing and Bilbo closed her eyes in relief.

_Has it not occurred to you that you carry some of the blame for our current predicament?_

“Burglar what were you thinking?” Thorin demanded, though his tone was gentler than usual. “And if you were so desperate to escape why did you come back?”

Bilbo shook her head, unwilling to explain herself.

“I have never known a hobbit more likely to get in trouble,” Gandalf said quietly. “Or one more likely to surprise me. Did you accomplish whatever it was you set out to do then?”

Bilbo shook her head, unwilling to trust either of them with her plan. Gandalf gave her a long look but accepted her answer.

“Well then,” Gandalf said, turning to face the room. “I would say our hobbit has proven her worth through these tasks even if she cannot complete this last one. Rub that ointment on your foot when the pain comes back,” he instructed her then, addressing the others, said, “I’m sure Mistress Baggins would appreciate some privacy.”

Oin left quickly, but when Gandalf gestured at Thorin the dwarf king shook his head.

“I’ll only be a moment,” Thorin told the wizard.

“Explain things to her,” Gandalf told him meaningfully then pulled the door shut behind him and was gone.

“Explain what to me?” she asked Thorin. “Why you didn’t leave me outside? You _should_ have left me?”

“Is that truly what you think of me?” he asked.

“You would have won,” she shrugged, then yawned so big her jaw cracked.

“So long as you’re in my kingdom you’re my responsibility,” he said as if that explained everything. “And this was never about winning.”

“If this wasn’t about winning, you would have let me go after the labyrinth,” Bilbo chuckled darkly. “Besides, I was simply saving you the hassle since you can’t very well banish yourself.”

“I don’t think anyone could say you’ve saved me a hassle,” Thorin said dryly. “In fact, one might say you’ve been nothing but a hassle.”

“Whatever hassle I’ve caused is your fault,” Bilbo yawned again, her eyelids growing heavier as the fire’s warmth continued to seep through her blankets. “You’re the one that overreacted.”

“The labyrinth was not my idea,” he said quietly. “And I admit I didn’t think through the consequences of these tasks—I never thought you would find that penny.”

“You don’t have to sound so worried about it,” Bilbo snorted. “Being surprised by a hobbit isn’t the end of the world.”

He made a noncommittal sound and paced for a moment, as if locked in some inner debate, then turned and said, “When you fail the third task, I’ll let you go.”

She gave him a quizzical look.

“The third task,” he said as if he was being obvious, “When you fail to present me a crown, I will find a way. I can’t banish you anymore because you’ve ruined that plan along with all the others, but you will return to Bag End in peace. I’ll even give you an escort home.”

“Guards?” Why did her voice sound so accusatory? This was everything she hoped for—Thorin was promising to let her go.

“That’s their official role,” he admitted. “But their real orders will simply be to keep you safe.”

“Home.” She rolled the word around in her mouth. Her tongue traced its sounds as she pictured leaving this ridiculous mountain and its mad king. But Thorin still thought she would fail her last task, that it was up to him to get her out of this. Her eyes scanned the room until she saw her small sack lying forgotten by the bed. Bilbo would go home, but she wouldn’t slink off into the night, not after everything she had endured. She still fully intended to _win_.

“I don’t like that look,” Thorin said, drawing her attention back to him. “What are you plotting?”

“Plotting?” She tried her best to sound affronted, but she knew he wasn’t buying it. His face turned deadly serious.

“You do realize you can’t complete the third task,” he said. “You mustn’t even try. This isn’t about some silly contest anymore. Tell me you understand what’s at stake.”

Bilbo stared at him in amazement. One second he was taking care of her, acting like he…he…he _cared_. And the next he treated her as if all of this, all that transpired, was _silly_? As if she were no more than a child competing for a prize at a fair. Bilbo didn’t have the energy for it.

“I know exactly what’s at stake,” she said. Her dignity, her good name—perhaps even her life because no matter what he said, she couldn’t trust him completely. Not after everything.

“Good then you understand that—”

“Leave,” she said.

He looked shocked and then irritated, and when he opened his mouth again, she spoke over him.

“ _Leave_.”

He stared at her for a long, quiet moment, but finally he walked to the door, his gaze dark and heavy. After he left, she closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to take her. Go to Erebor, they said. Present our tribute to the king, they said. It’s a great honor, they said. Bollocks, Bilbo wanted to say. She cursed them all as she drifted off, but more than anyone, she cursed mad dwarven kings with piercing blue stares and an embrace she hated that she didn’t hate.


	6. Defeat in Victory

The throne room was crowded, the din of conversation falling into silence in a wave that rippled out across the grouped courtiers. Oin’s ointment had been nothing short of magical, but Bilbo still walked slowly, limping her way to stand before Thorin. He sat on his majestic throne in full regalia today. His crown shone from his brow and his dark hair gleamed as it fell in waves around his face, braids and beads marking his station. Her hand clenched around the small sack as she looked up at him. His expression was serene, relief with a tinge of sadness marking his features. He sat at ease, completely sure that today, finally, she would fail, and he could pronounce his judgement.

“Your majesty,” Bilbo said clearly. “I present to you my crown.” Reaching into the sack she pulled out her creation, holding it up for all to see.

Vines twined around each other forming an intricate pattern and the berries and evergreen gave it the beautiful colors of autumn. Bilbo had worked tirelessly on it and it was a beautiful mixture of the garden beauty of the Shire and the interconnected, delicate lacework that decorated Thorin’s own crown. Neither fully dwarven nor fully hobbit, her crown was a beautiful melding of the two forming something altogether new and more beautiful.

“Forged by no hands but my own,” Bilbo intoned, holding the crown high, “and made of no ore from this mountain but by the materials of your kingdom. It is beautiful and strong.” She threw the crown down where it hit the floor soundlessly. Not so much as a pinecone fell off.

“And, most importantly,” Bilbo bent down to retrieve it, “it is practical. This is a crown made of life and seeds. If you plant it, life will sprout from it, feeding your people and bringing beauty to their lives.”

Thorin’s eyes burned into hers and Bilbo didn’t hide her self-satisfied grin. She had done it. She had won and now she stood triumphant before all of them, the mad king and his mad court. The crowd erupted around her and Bilbo turned back to them, bowing with a flourish. She was so proud of herself, in fact, that she completely missed Gandalf’s horrified expression.

Thorin stood up and all fell silent. Bilbo didn’t miss the way his hands gripped the arms of his throne so tightly his knuckles bulged. His furious gaze broke from hers and he addressed the crowd in a strong voice that carried to the farthest reaches of the room.

“Mistress Baggins has completed the third task,” he announced. “She has proven herself worthy beyond all measure and presented a crown equal to my own. She has earned her prize and her place here among the dwarves, a place of honor second only to the king. As written in the laws of my people, I will honor Mistress Baggins’ victory with the prize laid out by dwarven ancestors of old. She shall be my bride and rule with the wisdom and strength proven through these trials. We will wed tomorrow when the thrush knocks under the setting sun of Durin’s Day. Long live your queen!”

Bilbo’s grin vanished with a pop. Her stomach plummeted to her feet and she swayed, looking around the room for some sign, some indication that this was another trick, another impossible task she simply had to overcome. But Thorin came down from his mighty throne, one strong hand grabbing her arm above the elbow and pulled her close. His eyes bored into hers, the rage in them barely banked, and he leaned close hissing, “Revel in you victory, _wife_.”

Chants of “Long live the queen!” echoed around her, but none of it made any sense. She had won. She had beaten Thorin, the mad King under the Mountain. This wasn’t…this couldn’t…

“No.” It was the only word Bilbo could form as that awful chanting reverberated. “No.”

_You do realize you can’t complete the third task. You mustn’t even try. This isn’t about some silly contest anymore._

Thorin waved Balin over, whispering something in his ear, then exited the throne room, his grip on Bilbo’s arm pulling her, hobbling, after him. Her ankle barked in protest, but he showed no signs of slowing down.

“No,” she said again in the hall, trying to pull her arm free. Thorin’s fingers tightened almost painfully and he turned to her, his features drawn tight with rage.

“You will say _nothing_ until we are behind closed doors,” he snarled. He took off again, Bilbo stumbling after him, and when she cried out in pain he spun around with a growl and swept her up into his arms. When they reached his quarters, he opened the door and marched through, slamming it shut behind him.

Bilbo opened her mouth, but he set her on her feet and silenced her with a look. Stalking through the rooms, he returned when he was assured of their privacy, opened his mouth to say something then shook his head and paced away, his chest heaving like a bellows.

“I will not marry you,” she said. She was trembling—why couldn’t she stop this shaking? Where was Gandalf? Gandalf would fix it.

“Gandalf cannot save you from yourself,” Thorin said in clipped tones and she realized she was speaking aloud. “Dammit Burglar, I told you I would send you home!” He lost control, the last word exploding on a roar and Bilbo stepped back, flinching. Thorin buried his fingers in his hair, clearly as overwhelmed as she.

“Why can’t you still? Why do we have to marry?”

“You’re a player on the board now,” he spat. “You wanted the courts to recognize your power, well—you got your wish.”

Bilbo’s head was shaking. “I didn’t…I don’t…”

“No,” he said. “No, you don’t get to pretend anymore, not with me.” He marched towards her and she backed up until her back hit the wall. When he spoke again his voice scared her. “Why did you do it? Are you so greedy for a kingdom you’ll ruin my life to get it?!”

“Steal your kingdom?” Bilbo gasped. “I thought it was over if I won!”

“Please,” Thorin sneered. “You knew what would happen—I made it so obvious even a child could have figured it out.”

“Obvious,” she repeated. “How is ‘you will complete my three tasks or I will execute you’ obviously anything but a threat?”

“I never said I would execute you!” he roared.

“You threw me to a fucking dragon!” she roared back.

His eyes flashed and he took another step; his hands flew to her shoulders holding her against the wall. Terrified, Bilbo’s knee came up, but he dodged the hit, then pinned her body with his own leaving Bilbo to thrash uselessly.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Don’t hit me.” Icy control was back in his voice, and Bilbo swallowed more scared by the resignation she saw on his face than his temper.

Her fingers buried themselves in his shirt, bunching the material and she looked up at him with eyes both pleading and furious. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“Make you? _Make you!?_ ” He stepped back, yanking the material out of her fingers and walked to the other side of the room. “I WAS GOING TO SEND YOU HOME!”

He started pacing again, clearly as close to the edge as she was. Bilbo watched, unable to believe this was it, unable to accept what was happening.

“You are truly so committed to this ruse you will make me explain it?” he asked.

“I’m not…it’s not…” the tears pricked her eyes as her frustration bubbled over. How could he think she planned this, why was he so insistent?

“If you don’t marry me, you will be used by someone else,” Thorin said, “and I cannot give Thranduil that kind of influence. My only choice is to accept you as a wife and present this whole fiasco as some kind of political maneuvering. Whether you meant to marry me, or are a spy for Lake-Town or the elves you are now my curse and my weakness. What threat is the dragon if one lone hobbit can defeat it? Why should they pay tribute? Respect our borders? Honor trade agreements? My only protection against the power you’ve amassed here—and your only protection from those who would manipulate you if you’re telling the truth—is to marry.”

“How was I supposed to know?” she cried. “I know nothing of politics or these games I—” she broke off on a sob.

Thorin looked at her, eyes cold and pitiless. “I told you I would send you home. There is no reason to make a crown for a king unless one intends to wear it. It is done and you have left us too vulnerable to make another choice.”

“Left us too vulnerable or _you_ too vulnerable,” she said, the horror of her situation sinking in.

Thorin stared at her, something heavy settling in his eyes.

“You never told me what would happen if I won,” she said, looking down at the floor. “Honestly, I didn’t know.”

He barked a cold laugh and Bilbo flinched. “You didn’t know,” he said meanly. He cocked his head at her and she felt like she was a piece of meat he was preparing to roast on a spit. “Tell me, Burglar, if you wanted to leave so badly why not simply concede? You had your out and you rejected it.”

Bilbo approached him, palms up, needing to make him understand. Needing him to believe her.

“You wouldn’t let me leave after the labyrinth,” she reminded him. “I was ready to go then but you insisted I had to complete three tasks. Why? Why not stop it there?”

“I’m the King under the Mountain—”

“You had to win,” Bilbo finished for him, the horrible truth suddenly dawning in front of her. “You knew what could happen and you did it anyway.”

It was his turn to look away. He was quieter when he answered, more controlled. “I thought I would win.”

“But you didn’t,” Bilbo said. “First you risked my life in the labyrinth and now you catch me in this scheme because of your pride and you want to blame me?” He flinched, some of her words finally getting through to him.

“You’re not the only one making a sacrifice here,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sure marrying me is a terrible sacrifice for you,” she said. “Poor King under the Mountain forced to marry a dowdy hobbit nobody. I’m sure you’ll be the first royal in all of history to stay faithful to a wife that hates him.”

“You know nothing of dwarves if you think that,” he said.

“Well, I guess I’m about to learn a whole lot more aren’t I?” she said with a derisive snort.

“Should I let you be taken by another court then?” he demanded, and she glared at him, desperately searching for an answer, any answer that would let her escape this noose she felt tightening around her neck.

But Bilbo could see no way out this time. She knew nothing about the courts of the humans or elves. She shivered, remembering Thranduil’s cold eyes as he called for her to be thrown into the labyrinth and thought of the Master of Lake-Town who thought her no better than livestock.

“I don’t want to go to the elves or humans,” she whispered hoarsely.

“As disgusting as it might be, I don’t see another choice.”

_Disgusting_.

A tear fell as his words flayed her. It was one thing to know neither of them wanted to marry the other, but facing that future with a husband who thought she was disgusting turned this awful situation into something even worse. It felt like she was facing the dragon again except this time there was no exit, no trick that Bilbo could think of to save herself. She was trapped and she was burning alive.

“I will marry you,” she said hollowly, “after Gandalf confirms it’s my only choice.” It was only a ghost of a chance, but Bilbo clung to it, refusing to break completely until she truly lost all hope.

She turned and left the room, ignoring Thorin’s demands that they weren’t finished speaking yet. Swiping furiously at her eyes she set off to find Gandalf. Luckily, he was already looking for her.

“My dear, dear hobbit,” he said sadly, and Bilbo felt her heart shattering. “In here,” he waved her through a door. She let him usher her through and tried to pull herself together as best she could.

“Gandalf,” she asked him, “is it true? Thorin said if I didn’t marry him I would be hunted by Lake-Town and Thranduil and that…that I have some kind of political power now.”

“I’m sorry my dear, but Thorin is quite right,” Gandalf said sadly. “You’ve made yourself a player by besting the King under the Mountain. Marrying him is…it is the best of your options. He is not normally cruel, and you will be safe here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Gandalf?” It was a sincere question and Bilbo meant to ask it calmly, but the words sounded accusatory even to her. The betrayal and rage eating her up inside was spiraling beyond her control.

“Thorin promised me you understood,” The wizard said softly. “I’ve been out of the mountain on other matters, distracted by a growing darkness in Mirkwood.”

“And after the snowstorm?” she pushed.

“I thought he explained it to you,” he told her, and the sorrow in his face was too real for Bilbo to deny his sincerity. “When Thorin stayed behind to speak with you I…” Gandalf trailed off and was quiet a long moment, his face lined and weary. “I have failed you. You are a very unexpected hobbit, Mistress Baggins, and my apologies for my distractions keeping me from seeing that.”

Oh, how Bilbo wished she could be angry at the wizard. How she wanted to yell at him and rail against her fate and the foolish men who had abandoned her to it. But she knew it wouldn’t do any good. She was here now and on the morrow she would wed Thorin Oakenshield. Then she would spend the rest of her days stuck in this blasted mountain chained to his twisted pride.

“So, it is done then,” Bilbo sighed, the last of her hope shriveling. If there were any way out, any at all, Gandalf would tell her. She rose and left, walking through the corridors in a haze. A dwarven king and a hobbit queen. She might have laughed if there was anything funny about it.

“Excuse me!” someone called. “Excuse me your majesty!”

Bilbo looked around trying to see Thorin before he saw her, but he was nowhere in sight.

“Your majesty!” a dwarf said, running up to her. “I’m to escort you to the tailor so that you can be fitted for your wedding finery.”

“Your…majesty?” Bilbo asked him. “You’re talking to me?”

The dwarf’s eyes widened in anxiety. “Are you using another title? My apolo—”

“No,” Bilbo cut him off quickly. “No, I was just surprised is all. Please lead on Master Dwarf.”

“Very good,” he said and set off down the hallway.

They didn’t have to go far—he led her into a spacious room filled with silks and wool dyed all the colors of the world. Metal filigree sparkled, delicate work that showed the dwarves skill and artistry designed to enhance any garment. Bilbo let them stand her in the middle without protest and said nothing as several dwarves began to bustle around her taking measurements.

“We’ll have to work fast but we won’t let you down your majesty,” one of them said. “Your gown will sparkle like the Arkenstone itself.”

“That’s good,” a deep voice said behind her and Bilbo didn’t hide her wince. “My queen is very partial to the Arkenstone. Its beauty is what led her to us.”

Bilbo pressed her lips together to stop the invectives she desperately wanted to speak. Thorin waited patiently for all of ten minutes as they measured her and spun her, moving her around and looking at her like she was a doll without thoughts or cares. Bilbo squeezed her eyes shut and told herself it was fine, told herself she would survive this.

“How much longer do you think you’ll be Master Dori?” Thorin asked the tailor.

“We’re just finished your majesty,” the dwarf in front of her said. With a flourish he whipped the slender cloth marked with measurements over his shoulder and gave Bilbo a kind smile. “Your dress will be ready for you tomorrow. We’ll work all night to make sure it’s done.”

“Really anything will do,” Bilbo told him. “You don’t have to—”

“Come,” Thorin interrupted her, his strong hand wrapping around her own. “Dressing their future queen is an honor and a chance for our Master Tailor to show his talents to the court.”

“Oh,” she said, stumbling behind Thorin as he pulled her out of the room. Her manners asserting themselves even at this, the most ridiculous of times, she shouted, “Thank you!” just as the door swung shut.

Thorin said nothing, simply set off at a brisk pace and Bilbo grimaced as her ankle twinged. She didn’t know if the blasted dwarf kept forgetting her injury or if he simply no longer cared. She hissed as her foot landed in a particularly painful way and he slowed without comment, but his grip on her hand didn’t loosen.

“What are we—” Bilbo began.

“Tomorrow’s ceremony is sacred amongst dwarves,” he said coldly. “It’s important you understand your role in it.”

“And you didn’t think to explain it earlier?”

“I was going to explain it,” he said in an annoyed tone. “And then you left in the middle of our conversation.”

“Because you’re so good at explaining things,” she muttered to herself.

He led them back to the royal suite of rooms and Bilbo found herself right back where she started. He let her go and she sat down heavily on a long, padded bench along one wall.

“Stop acting like this is all my fault,” she said, leaning over to rub her sore ankle. Thorin snorted and his glare turned mocking.

“If I ask you a question,” he asked, “just one question, would you answer it honestly?”

“I wouldn’t think you would believe the words of a burglar,” she said.

“I never should have,” he agreed, then with a deep breath he asked, “Was this your plan all along?”

Bilbo sat up and looked at him, “How many times do I have to say it before you believe me?”

“You wouldn’t be the first to desire being Queen under the Mountain,” he said as if it was obvious. “I have said I would marry you, so you need not keep pretending. I just need to know.”

“Pretending,” she said disbelievingly. “You really think…” The laughter bubbled up and overtook her suddenly. Bilbo knew she sounded a little mad; she could hear it in the shrillness of her tone, but she couldn’t help herself. This was all so completely _absurd_.

“Damn you!” he cursed her.

Bilbo wiped her eyes as her twisted humor ebbed and pretended the moisture there was from laughing and not agony. “You know what you need to,” she said brokenly. “I cannot make you believe it.” Was this really how it would be? Forced into marriage and at war with each other forever more?

“Fine,” he said, clearly not satisfied. “I know my decision is made. And you? You spoke to the wizard and accept this must be?”

“I did.” Bilbo pushed up from the bench and moved to a window where she could look out at the snow-covered slopes of the mountain. “And I do.”

“During tomorrow’s ceremony we will pledge our lives to each other,” he said tightly. “You know enough about dwarves to know we don’t take such things lightly.”

She said nothing, uninterested in soothing his bloated ego with her understanding.

“You must pledge your loyalty to your subjects, the kingdom, and me,” he went on. “There will be a feast and we will be expected to look like it isn’t the worst day of either of our lives. Do you think you can manage that Burglar?”

Viciously, Bilbo tossed his words from earlier back at him, “As disgusting as it might be, I don’t see another choice.”

“I am well aware of your feelings on the subject,” he growled. “Don’t act as if you’re the only one dissatisfied with our situation.”

“Please,” she turned back to glare at him. “Don’t pretend this affects us both equally. You have a wife you can lock away somewhere and forget, but I’m to be cut off from my home and my people.”

“Your selfishness is astounding,” he said, coming closer. “You know nothing of dwarves or our ways.”

“Selfishness?” she choked on the word. “I’m the selfish one? Maybe this is what you wanted all along, to watch me squirm like a worm on your hook knowing that I would never get free.”

Thorin reached out, his fingers brushing her skin as he grabbed the leather cord around her neck, and she tried to jerk away but his other hand shot up, keeping her still until he had the copper penny gripped between two thick fingers.

“I thought when you took this from me that you were at least a clever burglar,” he said in a low voice. “That you understood the stakes of our wager.”

“As I recall you weren’t thinking about much when I took that from you,” she said meanly, “because you were too busy rolling around on the ground in pain.”

“If I do lock you away it will only be to save me from the sharpness of your tongue,” he spat. “And I grow weary of playing the villain in this pretense. When we’re in public we must appear to enjoy each other, to be at ease in each other’s presence.”

“If I’m as good at lying as you insist, then it shouldn’t be a problem,” she said trying vainly to escape his grip.

“Oh, I’ve no doubt you can lie,” he mocked her. “But I’ve accepted I cannot predict which lies you will tell and when. Or for what purpose.”

“I will play my part!” she yelled at him. “I will smile and be pleasant—I will convince the entirety of your court that I don’t find your touch revolting!”

He laughed, the gleam in his eyes making Bilbo regret her words. “I’ve no doubt you find me revolting,” he said, still holding that blasted copper penny like it was her leash. “But we both know it isn’t my touch that bothers you.”

Bilbo shook her head as he leaned in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t—”

His face was only inches from hers now, his breath fanning across her lips as he whispered his next words. “To complete the ceremony, we shall have to kiss.” Her eyes widened as she realized what he was about to do. Panic raced through her, but he fisted the copper penny and tugged, pulling her into him.

Their lips touched and she froze. He didn’t leap on her as she feared, but kept the kiss gentle. She was unprepared for the softness of his lips, and his beard scraped her as he tilted her head and fit them more closely together. He slowly increased the pressure, and her eyes drifted shut as he licked at the seam of her lips. Losing herself in the moment, she accepted him.

In a moment, the kiss changed, and then he was devouring her. The gentility of before disappeared and a wave of heat swept through her as her body pressed flush to his. His tongue delved into her mouth, stroking her and drawing a moan. Bilbo felt her core tighten and flood with arousal and then shock doused the heat. She tore away, her sudden desire scaring her back to reality.

His still held her, and her own fingers clutched the material of his shirt tightly not to shove away but to pull him close. She shook her head, refusing everything his kiss made her feel and stared at him in terrified confusion. His features shifted, that cold detachment sliding back into place and she hated herself for reacting to him—hated that she’d shown him this vulnerability.

“That’s good,” he smirked. “I guess _servicing_ me won’t be such a hardship for you after all. Now, Burglar, we are done.”

He released her and left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Bilbo sank down, the sting of his words piercing her heart. In a daze she reached up and gingerly traced her lips, still tingling and sensitive. Why did she…how could she…Was it not enough that he ruined her life? Did he have to ruin her soul as well? Bilbo buried her face in her hands and wept.

***

“To the Queen!” the cheer went up along with their cups.

“The Queen!” came the response and more cheers.

Bilbo had maintained a pleasant expression for the last three hours—through the ceremony and the celebration that followed and through the _multiple_ kisses it turns out she and Thorin were expected to share. They were brief, barely more than pecks, but every one reminded her that Thorin hadn’t fully explained what to expect. What else was new, Bilbo thought bitterly.

Dwarves, it turned out, were very physically affectionate at weddings and every kiss was followed by a toast. Bilbo had attended her share of weddings and drank her share of beer—hobbits knew a thing or two about parties—but the cheers and then the kisses and then the drinks, seemed never-ending. She was already tipsy, and she had kissed Thorin so many times at this point it didn’t even feel awkward anymore.

Leaning over she dutifully puckered up, hating how good he smelled. The crowd applauded and Bilbo whispered, “how much longer?”

Thorin’s expression dimmed slightly before he gave her another smile and said, “Soon.” He was enjoying himself Bilbo realized. That treacherous dwarf had the audacity to enjoy his own wedding. Bilbo drained her mug and smiled up at the young dwarf who immediately poured her more.

“A toast!” a deep voice boomed over the ruckus. Bilbo watched as Dwalin climbed onto a bench, towering over the room with his drink held high.

“To our queen!” Dwalin began, pausing for the cheers, then continued: “She conquered the labyrinth and outsmarted the dragon. She recognized the worth of our kingdom in a lone copper penny and she has forged her place among us!” More cheers erupted. “May their union be happy, and their marriage bed well used!”

Bilbo choked on her drink.

“The Queen! The Queen!” Thorin patted her back as Bilbo coughed up beer and fought the embarrassed blush she could feel sweeping across her skin.

“Now we go,” Thorin told her when she’d managed to take a breath without hacking. He stood and waited for her to stand next to him. Then he clasped his hand around hers and raised their joined palms high to another round of cheers. Then, while Bilbo was still realizing she was a good deal more than tipsy, he bent and swept her up into his arms.

She squealed—there was no other word for it—and her response set off more raucous laughter and cheering.

Thorin carried her out of the room, his own expression showing no effect from the alcohol, but Bilbo grabbed at his shoulders to steady herself.

“Why are you,” she started and then hiccupped. “You can put me down.”

“It’s tradition for one member of the married couple to carry the other to the wedding chamber,” Thorin told her. “And since you don’t have the strength and stature of a dwarven maiden, not to mention you can barely walk, that means it falls to me. You can focus on not throwing up all over me, please.”

“I am not going to throw up!” she said, affronted. But then she hiccupped again and this time it was juicy. Thorin gave her a warning look and she nodded sheepishly. “I will try not to throw up.”

“I have never thought of hobbits as an unreasonable folk,” he said, his footsteps echoing off. “And yet I am sure I could not have married someone more stubborn if I tried.”

Bilbo laughed. “Me? Stubborn?” she asked. Then poked him in the chest and said, “Have you tried talking to you lately?”

Thorin ignored her but she thought she saw his lip twitch.

They reached his suite and he continued right past the first, familiar room and entered another door. It was a fancy room with dwarven scrollwork carved into the stone of the walls, but what dominated Bilbo’s vision was the enormous bed.

“It’s your bedroom,” she said, both terrified and excited by what would happen next.

Thorin sighed, some of his good humor fading. “These are our rooms,” he told her, setting her down gently on the edge of the bed. “Your things were moved in here during the ceremony.”

“But there’s only one bed,” she blurted out.

“Astute as always, my burglar,” he said dryly. Kneeling, he began working on the intricate clasps of her gown. Bilbo flailed awkwardly, the alcohol muddling her brain and fueling her panic.

“What are you doing?!” she cried. _What do you want him to do?_ A mean voice asked in her head. Her mind flashed back to that night on the balcony and the way he had captured her hands in his; she could still feel the heat of his hard chest under her palms—how electricity lit up her body when he’d touched her even as it scared and infuriated her.

Thorin frowned so she poked his cheek with her finger. She didn’t want him to frown she wanted him…Bilbo tried to think around the alcohol—did she want him? Is that what this was? Or was she simply drunk and seeking any respite from this new hell that bound her.

“You’re drunk,” he said tightly. “And your gown is as ornate as any Master of Dori’s skill could make it. I didn’t think you would want to sleep in it and there’s no one here to help you undress.”

“Oh,” Bilbo blinked at him, lost in the loop of her own questions. “Thank you.”

“May I continue?”

She nodded. What _did_ she want him to do? They were married now; she had no reason to think that would change. Even Gandalf had made clear this was her life, so…would it be wrong to seek pleasure? His fingers brushed the skin of her neck as he worked, the gentle touches making her shiver, and Bilbo looked up at him through her lashes.

His arrogance infuriated her—she hated the way he treated lives as games and distrusted her so completely. Everything about him was overbearing, too intense and serious. And yet…there was no viciousness in his blue eyes as he patiently worked through the bindings of Master Dori’s dress, the ties and intricate mithril lacework as complicated as any labyrinth. He was a bully who invaded her space and kissed her without permission, but she couldn’t deny that his kisses haunted her. His lips had been softer than she expected, and, though she would never admit it sober, she was more scared of her own reaction to him than she was of anything he might do.

The first layer came loose and Thorin tugged it gently off her arms, letting it pool about her waist as he started working on the next. Bilbo wondered, what would he do if she asked him to kiss her? What would he say if she told him she wanted a wedding night? The second layer loosened, ready to slide off her body and Thorin sat back.

“I know you didn’t want this marriage,” he said quietly.

Rising to his feet he stepped away from her and Bilbo frowned, wishing she could work a response out of her addled head.

“Because of my—our station,” he went on, “there are certain dwarven customs we must respect. Dwarves marry once in their lives and they do it for love, so to keep separate rooms would…no one would understand. As uncomfortable as it may be, sharing a room is the least offensive option.”

Bilbo nodded, unsure where he was headed with this. Was he saying that, because they were married and he was a dwarf, he loved her? That thought set off a whole new confusing chain reaction inside her.

“But, while we are forced into this compromise together, you can trust that I have no intention of seeking intimacy with you,” he finished.

“Wait,” she said, and he looked at her. But nothing else came out. Did she want intimacy—was she trying to say that, if they were bound to each other, _some_ amount of intimacy would be preferable? That, if they could find some pleasure in each other, however brief, wouldn’t that make this cage more tolerable?

She hiccupped again and her hands flew to her mouth as she fought to keep her stomach from embarrassing her.

“The bathing chamber is through there,” he gestured and then turned and walked out of the room.

He had left her. The thought repeated over and over in her mind, twisting and sharpening. It was their wedding night and he had left her. Quickly, Bilbo shimmied out of the dress and undergarments, her stomach and her emotions both making her nauseous as she pulled a thin shift over her head. Surely, she wasn’t upset by this, she told herself. He was the mad king. She wanted nothing to do with him. But then her stomach heaved, and she raced to the bathing chamber and noisily lost every bite of the wedding feast she’d eaten earlier that night.

_Disgusting_ , came the unbidden thought to her mind. She heaved again, bile pouring out of her. _As disgusting as it might be_ , he’d said. She threw up a third time. How could she forget he thought being married to her was disgusting? What did she think, that because he toyed with her and kissed her, he would want her? By the fourth spasm there wasn’t much left in her stomach, but it twisted and heaved anyway. Bilbo spit, trying to clear her mouth, and wiped at the tears and snot that always followed when she was violently ill.

She put her cheek on the cool stone and sniffled, feeling every bit as disgusting as Thorin thought she was.

He had left her.

Oh, what Lobelia would say if she could see Bilbo now.


	7. Fugue

Bilbo woke the next morning in the bed with no memory of how she got there and had twisted the sheets around herself so completely it took a solid minute to untangle them. Her head was pounding, and she wasn’t sure “awful” was a strong enough word for how she was feeling. She wasn’t sure she knew a word for how she was feeling.

She lay there and a moment stretched into eternity as she imagined the rest of her life. She should be angry, Bilbo thought, or sad, but all she felt was this terrible emptiness. Where once she had known joy, grief, irritation, desire, there was…nothing; it was like she’d lost every emotion along with the wedding feast she ate last night. What would she do with this life she now had? How would she live it? She was married. She was distrusted. She was alone. And Bilbo had no idea how to build a life from that.

She was still in the bed, too tired to move and too tired to sleep, when a dwarf she didn’t know knocked and came in with food. He set the tray on the low table in front of the fire and Bilbo wanted to thank him—she _should_ thank him—but nothing came out. She worried that if she spoke it would make this real, and Bilbo felt the weight of that reality hovering just outside her periphery. The only thing holding it at bay was this impenetrable nothingness inside her.

The food sat there, forgotten and ignored, while she watched the sun track across the sky through a window. She was hungry. Bilbo wanted to eat. She was sure it would be delicious. And still, she didn’t get out of bed. Everything had gone so fast and she’d survived it, gone along with the tasks and the wedding because she had to—finishing those things was her purpose and now that purpose was fulfilled. Surely no one expected to her to _actually_ be Queen Under the Mountain?

She heard the door open—she was turned away from it towards the window and shadows crept in as day turned to night. Bilbo didn’t ask who it was; she already knew. His presence was palpable to her, and she lay silent while he sighed over the uneaten food. She didn’t move when the bed dipped under his weight.

“Are you still sick?” he asked softly. “Is that why you aren’t eating?”

She might be sick, Bilbo thought—she might be so sick she would never get better again.

“Burglar,” he asked, and she thought his tone sounded worried, unsure even. Bilbo wanted to answer him, just like she wanted to thank the dwarf that brought food. But speaking, the effort of forming words, was too much. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.

Thorin didn’t push her. He rose and left and when he came back later Bilbo was in the same position, still staring out the same window. He blew out the candles until the only light came from the fire and the bed dipped again as he climbed in on the other side. He said nothing and Bilbo felt something like gratitude then—if one could feel gratitude when they couldn’t feel anything.

So, this was to be her life. And they were to share a bed. Bilbo would learn to live with that, she promised herself. This wouldn’t be the end of her story. But that journey couldn’t happen yet. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.

The next day Gandalf came to see her, and she let him get her up. She cleaned herself when he hustled her into the bathing chamber and then she picked at the food he placed in front of her. He talked to her about Mirkwood and told her of his upcoming trip—he would have to go back he said, and Bilbo nodded. Talking still felt unnecessary, an effort she didn’t have the energy to make, but the nod seemed to appease him. When he left, she stayed in the chair in front of the fireplace and watched the flames.

Thorin came back to the room again that night, and she felt more than saw him examine her when he entered. He wanted to ask her questions, she imagined, but through luck or understanding, he accepted she wouldn’t answer them. Not today. Maybe tomorrow.

The third day Bilbo got herself up and dressed. She ate the food when the same dwarf from the first day dropped it off and she managed a small smile, if still no words. Thorin stayed away all day and late into the night—when finally, he came in she knew he had waited until she was sleeping. She wasn’t—what need did she have for sleep when the void was the same either way? But she pretended and she liked that no one tried to talk to her.

The fourth day Bilbo thought it was time she tried. Tried to speak, tried to move, just…tried. She began as she had the day before—cleaning herself, then eating—and she made it as far as the parlor door, that last barrier between the royal suite and the rest of the mountain before she was too overwhelmed. She was going to go outside today, she had thought. She was going to say hello to someone. It wasn’t a big goal, but it was one she thought she could manage. But as she stood there looking at the door, she felt a tremor go through her. The nothingness fractured and she glimpsed the emotions buried beneath it—deep and powerful sensations of grief and loss and Bilbo turned away from the door and walked back into the bed chamber. Reality was pushing down on her, its terrible weight too much for even the nothingness to hold it at bay forever, and she made it as far as the fireplace before she fell to her knees.

Sensation flooded her body and Bilbo wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold her soul together. But the dam cracked and was swept away as the loss of Bag End, the loss of the Shire, the loss of _love_ drowned her and pulled her down. She was married. She was distrusted. She was alone.

Bilbo didn’t know how long she cried. Her eyes were swollen, her nose was runny, and her body hurt when she finally pushed herself up and stumbled to the bed. She climbed in, not bothering to change, and then she cried some more. And as the grief finally passed Bilbo thought that even if she hadn’t managed to start living again today, maybe tomorrow she had a chance. A _real_ chance.

When Thorin came in the tears had died down to sniffles and he didn’t ask which was good because Bilbo didn’t know how to answer.

Tomorrow, Bilbo thought. She would leave these rooms tomorrow.

***

“Good to see you up and about lass!” Balin greeted her. “Bifur makes the best desserts in all of Middle Earth and he’s just about to take a fresh batch of his creamy puffs out of the oven. I thought a hobbit like yourself couldn’t pass up a chance to steal a few with me.”

Bilbo stared at him. It had taken every ounce of her will to open the door from her rooms to the corridor. She had paced and breathed and told herself _not tomorrow_. It _had_ to be today. And then she opened it and there was Balin, happy as a rabbit in the garden, ready to take her to eat…pastries.

“Well?” Balin asked.

Bilbo liked pastries. She nodded.

“Excellent!” Balin clapped. “Off we go!” He set off for the kitchens and she watched him go—she did love a good dessert.

Bilbo took one step. And then another. And then she was walking with Balin to the kitchens, listening to him tell her about the goings on in the mountain and how the snows had set in. He seemed content to fill the quiet and Bilbo was content to let him.

“Go sit over there lass,” Balin gestured towards one of the cozy alcoves that dotted the Great Room. “I’ll grab us the treats.”

She sat in the chair, amazed at the bustle of dwarves going about their day—carrying food and drink from the pantries and cellars to the kitchens. On their way to and from the forges or the mines. That they were all living their normal lives seemed alien to Bilbo. How could the world feel like this to her and be utterly normal for everyone else?

“Here we go,” Balin interrupted her thoughts. He handed her two pastries, still warm, and Bilbo took a bite. A sweet, warm filling exploded in her mouth and for one, brief heartbeat an emotion bloomed inside of her, almost as if it had been hiding in the filling, and she remembered what _good_ felt like. Good food. Good company. A good moment. She wanted to sigh and sit back contentedly while the fire crackled and popped behind them. It faded, the nothingness creeping back in around the edges, but it wasn’t as strong as before; the feelings weren’t gone anymore, they were just at a distance. Still shadows of their former selves, but there all the same.

“Ah that’s the stuff,” Balin said happily, crumbs covering his beard.

Bilbo felt the ghost of a smile and raised her second pastry in a toast at Balin’s insistence.

“To delicious pastries!” he said. “May they never go stale.”

And then, as Bilbo ate the second pastry, she smiled. It wasn’t a big, gregarious smile or a sad twisted one. It was small and it was fleeting and it was sincere. Because as she ate those pastries Bilbo was reminded of one very important truth—no matter how terrible the burden, or how overwhelming the future, _she_ was the one who made her home and her happiness. She didn’t belong here, and she certainly didn’t belong with Thorin, but she could build herself a space. She could eat pastries with Balin and she could enjoy it. And even if that wasn’t a lot, it was enough for now. It was enough to remind her that someday, when she was ready, there could be more.

This wasn’t Bag End but this was her home. Thorin didn’t trust her, but maybe Balin would. And she would be the only hobbit, but that didn’t have to mean she had to be alone.

“All you need is good food, and you can figure the rest out,” Balin said.

“So you’ve said many times,” Thorin spoke from behind her. Bilbo’s shoulders tried to swallow her neck as her anxieties and worries came rushing back.

“That you can’t seem to learn it doesn’t make it not true lad,” Balin proclaimed. “I need to go check on Bombur and I’m sure you two have things you need to talk about.”

Balin rose and Bilbo reached out for him, desperate for him to stay. He took her hand between his and gave her a kindly smile, pastry crumbs and all.

“You can do this lass,” he said gently. “You beat a dragon. You can talk to your husband.” And then he was gone.

Thorin cleared his throat awkwardly as he took Balin’s chair. “So,” he said and then waited for her to speak.

Bilbo was suddenly flooded with words; she was silent now not because she couldn’t speak but because she wasn’t sure how to start. Did he still hate her? Was sharing a bed every night making him miserable? What would their marriage be like? What did he want from her as his queen? Could she ever return to the Shire?

Thorin blew out an aggravated sigh. “If you don’t want to talk to me, I understand,” he said, his frustration leaking through even as he tried to hide it. “I’ll go.”

He started to rise, and Bilbo panicked. This wasn’t right either. Why was everything always so wrong with him?

“Wait.” Her voice was hoarse, and she had to clear her throat before she could try again. But Thorin froze at her command, and then he slowly sank back down into the chair eying her warily.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me Burglar,” he said softly. “We’re married now, and it is my duty to honor my wife and queen.”

She winced, not quite ready to be a wife and queen, but she nodded. “I’m…I’m not scared,” she said slowly.

“Then what?” he asked. “Why are you free to laugh with Balin but look miserable the moment I’m in your presence?”

Bilbo didn’t know how to answer that. Because he made it clear he would never trust her? Because he found the idea of marrying her disgusting? Because his pride had ruined her life? It was all of that and none of it. At a loss, she shrugged.

“You look at me as if I’m your jailor,” Thorin said, and Bilbo felt her heart twinge at the sadness in his voice. He looked up at her earnestly. “You’re not a prisoner here. We will visit the Shire someday.”

“We will? Now?” The unexpected hope tore the words from her silence. _The Shire_. He said she could go back to the Shire. Bilbo saw ripples in the gray eternity that stretched across her future. She suddenly saw possibilities where before there had been none.

But Thorin was shaking his head. “Not now, the snows have set in. The Misty Mountains will be impassable by anyone not seeking certain death,” he said. “But in a couple of months, maybe three. Then we can begin preparations. I must plan to be gone that long.”

“You…you’re coming with me?” she asked hesitantly.

“Do you not want me to?”

Bilbo offered a noncommittal shrug. Did she want him to?

“I’ve always planned to go to the Shire,” he said. “I want to see where you grew up.”

And then the pieces slid into place. Bilbo closed her eyes and imagined what was left of her battered heart being locked away in a metal box deep, deep inside her. Of course he wanted to see where she grew up. How could she possibly have forgotten.

“You want to know if I’m some kind of spy,” she said. Thorin’s shock at her words was sincere, but also guilty.

“I want to get to know you, yes,” he tried to redirect, but a new emotion roared out of the void: anger.

“Oh come on Thorin,” she said, a meanness to her tone that wasn’t there a moment ago, “you’re the one who insisted we be truthful with each other.”

“Fine,” he said sharply. “If I go to the Shire, I can talk to those who raised you, get a better idea of your motivations. But I also thought it would make you happy.”

She believed him—he did seem sincere, but he was still refusing to give her a chance. And every time he accused her of manipulating _him_ into this marriage, it was an insistence that this was all somehow _her_ fault. The anger was exhilarating, igniting her blood and color rushed back into Bilbo’s world. It felt so good to _feel_ again she didn’t want to let it go. She didn’t want to be reasonable or give him the benefit of the doubt. She wanted to hurt him back.

“Of course going to the Shire will make me happy,” she said and Bilbo let herself revel in the beat of his relief. Then she said, “it’s going to The Shire with _you_ that makes me miserable.”

His gaze went cold and hard, covering the hurt in his eyes but not before she saw it. Thorin rose and walked away and she let him. Contradictory feelings wrestled inside her; she wasn’t happy she hurt him, but she loved the feeling of this anger. It sharpened her focus. It made her want to thwart him however she could. And if this was how she found her way forward, wasn’t that the least of what he deserved?


	8. Balance

Reignited, if not in the healthiest of ways, Bilbo finally began her wanderings. She liked to think of them as her adventurings even though they all happened inside the mountain. She discovered she had barely scratched the surface of Erebor, but what was most frustrating, was that every time she got lost, no matter where she was or which direction she was going, she always ended up at the forges. Master Nori took pity on her, often taking a break for a brief chat before pointing her towards the right corridor and sending her on her way. But by the fourth time it happened all the dwarves working the forges had begun to take an interest. After the third time, Bilbo promised herself she not again, but then she came to a door stuck shut at the end of a long, disused hallway and when Bilbo gave a great heave and it popped open…she tumbled out right into the busiest area full of heat and clamor.

“We’ve got a burglar in the old service hallway lads!” a dwarf she didn’t know announced when she came to a stop at his feet. A great cheer went up as they laughed at the ignominious nickname Thorin had attached to her since her arrival. These dwarves meant no harm by it, though; she could tell their teasing was good-natured, so Bilbo stood up, dusted herself off, and took a bow. Soon she was surrounded by laughing dwarves wanting to know how she ended up in that hallway, endlessly delighted when she explained how she kept finding her way back here. Then someone asked her about the dragon and next thing she knew, Bilbo was holding court in the middle of the forges. They wanted to know how she made her crown and what inspired her. They demanded she explain how she had tamed Thorin. And so on.

Eventually Master Nori saved her, shooing the others back to work and taking a grateful Bilbo away from the crowd.

“I think it’s safe to say you’ve won them over,” he winked at her.

“Well, you know, I did face a dragon,” Bilbo joked.

She wandered back to the upper levels and didn’t think much more about it until that night when Thorin returned to the room. Bilbo was reading; she’d found a history of the Iron Hills left forgotten on a shelf earlier and she’d been engrossed ever since. But at the sound of his voice she shot him an irritated glance.

“I hear you’ve been visiting the forges,” Thorin said as he moved around the room, dousing candles.

“It seems that all paths lead there,” she said, turning a page.

“You impressed a lot of people when you completed the three tasks,” he said, crawling under the covers. “There are many here who would be your friend.”

“Then why can’t I share a bed with one of them,” she muttered and Thorin said nothing else. A small voice inside her told Bilbo this wasn’t right—that her being mean to him at every opportunity was no way to start a new life. Bilbo told that voice to shut up.

She took a break from exploring the next day, getting lost instead in a trove of history books Balin showed her when she told him about that one she was reading. One day turned into two turned into a week—the dwarves had amazing historians, she discovered; their tales made her feel as if she were perched precariously on a ledge, chasing a vein of ore in the dark, or carving massive gates and enchanting them so only the chosen may enter. Thorin had ceased trying to speak to her at night which suited Bilbo just fine, and during the day they each went their own separate ways.

It was a strange existence in some ways and one night Bilbo found herself watching him while he slept. Sometimes he snored just slightly, the sound a reminder that he was not some great monster but merely another person…like her. Bilbo noticed how he looked younger when he slept too; the severe lines of his face eased in sleep as some of the worry he constantly carried eased away. Maybe it was time to make peace, Bilbo wondered—maybe it was time she stopped pretending this was a battle either of them could ever win.

But then she remembered where she was and how she got there and that even when he offered her the Shire—the one thing she wanted above all others—he did it for his own selfish reasons. Bilbo locked that small voice away again and told herself she was doing nothing more to him than he had done to her. And even if that math wasn’t quite right, she wasn’t interested, yet, in finding another answer.

***

“And that’s when Dwalin popped up out of the wine barrel with a chicken on his head!” Balin finished. Bilbo and the other dwarves roared with laughter, draining cups and laughing more while they were refilled. Bilbo was more than a little drunk, but as she raised her glass yet again and realized her cheeks were sore from smiling.

She had been reading in her favorite alcove, tucked away and lost in the world of her book when Dwalin appeared and plucked the book right out of her hands. Bilbo shouted an oath but Dwalin simply declared, “You’re rotting your brain. It’s time to drink!”

Now she was surrounded by a rowdy crowd as first Dwalin, then Balin, then Bifur and Bombur, then a slew of others she didn’t know took up seats and began making toasts until her world grew a bit fuzzy around the edges. They drank and shared stories and then songs and then more stories until Bilbo was standing on a table singing a drinking song from the Shire while they all stomped their feet and pounded table tops in time with her beat. She slowly sped up the song, the words growing in speed and intensity as her feet danced across the table with the freakish dexterity of someone too drunk to know they’re clumsy, but as she finished her last spin, glass held high and only a little beer sloshing out, her luck ran out. Bilbo tripped on her own feet and fell backwards off the table. The room tilted and fell away in slow motion and her last sight was of Balin’s worried face.

But miraculously, someone caught her. Bilbo fell into their arms with am “oomph!” and when she opened her eyes, she saw Thorin looking down at her. There was a beat of absolute silence and then the dwarves erupted in cheers and applause.

“The King and Queen Under the Mountain!” one shouted and then the rest took it up.

Bilbo’s smile vanished and she pushed at him, barely waiting for him to set her down before she was stumbling to get away. She wasn’t even sure precisely what upset her—they were the King and Queen Under the Mountain. That fall was going to hurt if he hadn’t caught her. And yet all of Bilbo’s joy and happiness vanished at his appearance, as if the two couldn’t co-exist at the same time in the same place.

Thorin ignored her rude flight and accepted a tankard that someone held out from the crowd. He raised his glass to cheers and drained it all in one go. Bilbo not so subtly made her way back to her spot at the table before she ended up dancing like a loon on the tabletop. And if it just so happened that spot put a lot of dwarves between Thorin and her then no one could accuse her of intentionally running away.

But then Dwalin had to go and ruin it.

“Here!” Dwalin called, standing up from his spot at the table and waving Thorin over. Thorin, to his credit, did hesitate—he knew Bilbo didn’t want him near her even if every other dwarf in the room was oblivious.

“You should sit next to your Queen!” someone she didn’t know proclaimed. “After she fought so hard for your hand, it’s the least you can do.” Bilbo choked on her drink.

Bifur started a story then and she relaxed a little as the attention finally shifted away. Thorin sat stiffly next to her, but as Bifur’s story turned into an epic and the cycle of drinking, refills, and drinking continued, Bilbo felt herself starting to relax. She was pretty good at pretending to like her husband, she thought—as long as she didn’t have to interact with him.

By the time Bifur finally finished, dwarves were peeling off, seeking their beds. Bilbo hid a mighty yawn and then set her drink down, ready to find a bed herself. But just as she started to rise, one of the dwarves from the forge stopped her.

“There’s one more story I want to hear,” he said, stopping Bilbo by pointing one thick finger at her. “Tell us how you found that copper penny. That’s Thorin’s penny and I know for a fact he never takes it off cause I was there the day he earned it.”

Thorin, as lulled into relaxation by the drink and Bifur’s story as the rest of them, sat up sharply. His eyes locked on Bilbo’s and he gave one sharp shake of his head. Bilbo felt her lips curving in a smile. It was not nice.

“He thought he’d outsmarted me,” Bilbo began, leaning in like she was telling them all a secret. “But the trick was in how he worded the task. See he said ‘will be’ not ‘is.’ And once I realized that and I saw he had something hanging from a chain around his neck I knew where that copper penny was.”

The dwarves that remained hooted and pounded. “So how’d a hobbit out-wrestle a dwarf!” someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

“Easy,” she snorted. “All I had to do was—eeeeeee!!!”

One second Bilbo was talking and the next she was flat on her back on the hard stone, her drink spilling across the floor next to her. Someone—and she was pretty sure that someone was Balin and Thorin—had tipped the whole bench over upending Bilbo and putting an end to her story.

“Alright lads!” Balin called. “That’s enough for one night!”

There was a round of groans and complaints until Thorin bellowed, “Away with you!” and they finally dispersed. Bilbo was still on the ground trying to decide if she was upset, in pain, or just wanted to sleep right here in the middle of the room. Then Thorin’s angry face appeared above her.

“That story is _not_ for the crowds,” he growled.

“Why?” Bilbo laughed. “Afraid you’ll lose credibility when they find out you were—oof!”

Balin kicked her, not hard but enough to shut her up.

“You’re drunk,” Thorin said, stepping away as Bilbo sat up rubbing her side. She shot Balin a murderous glare.

“You’re drunk,” Bilbo retorted. As comebacks went it wasn’t her strongest performance.

“I’m not sleeping next to you when you’re like this,” Thorin said in a controlled voice, careful not to be overheard by any but Balin and Dwalin. “I understand that you hate me, and I’ve accepted that isn’t going to change any time soon, but I will not let you threaten the stability of my kingdom by making a fool out of me in public!”

“You don’t need any help from me for that,” Bilbo snickered.

“Enough!” Thorin snapped. And then quieter, but no less frustrated, “ _enough_. I will disappear from your sight and be a stranger to you from now on if that’s what you want. In exchange you _will_ adhere to rules and behavior befitting a queen. Do I make myself clear?”

Bilbo looked down at her empty glass sadly. She really wanted to finish that.

“Burglar,” he demanded, turning that damned nickname into a curse.

“Amazingly clear,” she sneered. “If only you could have been this clear before I wove that blasted crown!”

“Make sure she gets back to her room,” Thorin told the other two, and then stormed off. No doubt to brood over all his broody things, Bilbo mocked him silently.

She pushed to her feet, only slightly unsteady, and began the walk back to her room. She was going to have another headache tomorrow, even if she didn’t throw up again, but it was worth it for the story about Dwalin, the chicken, and the wine barrel if nothing else. All-in-all, Bilbo thought it hadn’t been a bad day. Until Balin decided it was time to be serious.

“The lad’s right,” Balin said as they walked through nearly empty hallways. “You can’t be mocking him like that in public. He’s the King, not some young buck you caught getting randy with his hammer.”

“Getting randy with his—” Bilbo started and then just shook her head and sighed, “Dwarves.” Sometimes it didn’t pay to think too hard about the relationship a dwarf had to his hammer.

“You were looking to hurt him back there,” Dwalin said. “I didn’t know you were the type to take pleasure in being mean. I thought better of you than that.”

Well that stung. “I don’t seek out reasons to be mean to people,” Bilbo defended herself. “But I was asked what happened and I shouldn’t have to lie!”

“That’s donkey dung and you know it,” Balin said in a serious tone. “Being in charge means having to lie sometimes and those lies are often the difference between peace and war, harmony and chaos. I saw your face; you couldn’t wait to embarrass him in front of us all.”

“Wait,” Bilbo said. “Do you two know what happened?”

“Of course we do,” Dwalin snorted. “Who do you think helped Thorin get back to his room when he could barely stand up straight?”

“There was no question who won that fight,” Balin agreed. “But that’s not the point. The point is you’re being mean for the sake of mean and now you’ve got to decide—is that who you want to be?”

Bilbo dropped her head in shame, unwilling to look at either of them. Emboldened by their words, that tiny voice inside her started talking again, telling her they were right.

“Lass,” Balin sighed, “there’s something you don’t know about dwarves that you need to understand. When we marry, it’s for life. Even if the two hate each other for the rest of your days, once a dwarf marries, they give up companionship with anyone else. Forever.”

“He and I aren’t supposed to have any other friends?” she asked aghast.

“Not friends—companionship. Lovers. It means if you decide there’s no reconciling this business between you, Thorin will spend his life celibate and faithful,” Dwalin said bluntly. “Which doesn’t mean you should pretend to feel something you don’t, but you seem to think getting married was nothing more than a mild inconvenience for him and that’s not fair. This is it. _You’re it_. For the rest of his life.”

“But…but he’s the king.”

“Exactly,” Balin told her. “Which is why there’s even more pressure on him to uphold his honor. However things came to be as they are, when Thorin said you two had to be married he was giving up any plans he had for the future same as you.”

“Not the same,” Bilbo eyed them, as they approached her door. “He gets to live in his home, and he gets to decide whether or not I’m trustworthy. I’ll be lucky to get a visit to the Shire and even then, it’s only so he can investigate me.” Neither of them had anything to say to that.

They all mumbled their goodbyes and Bilbo went in, shutting the door firmly behind her. She was right—what Thorin had given up wasn’t equal to her loss, but they were also right. She hadn’t understood that his future would be so…restricted. She assumed he would boff his way across the kingdom and leave his disgusting hobbit wife behind, and the spiteful part of her did enjoy knowing he was trapped the same as her.

But the truth of it was, Bilbo thought as she got ready for bed and crawled into the cold sheets, that she’d grown addicted to the anger. It revitalized her and got her going again. Hating Thorin had given her energy and purpose, a reason to start building a life here. Every good memory she made as queen was another reminder that Thorin had no power over her; it was another opportunity to rub it in his face that she was here, and she was taking up space.

But beneath that was another truth that was even more petty. Thorin had said being married to her was disgusting, so Bilbo wanted to show him just how disgusting she could be. But all she was doing was twisting herself into something monstrous just to make sure he stayed miserable.

It worked great for a while, but now that Balin and Dwalin had called her out on it, Bilbo found a healthy dose of shame creeping in. She had never set out to willfully hurt someone before in her life—not even Lobelia. Bilbo was raised to be patient and kind and instead she was growing vicious and unforgiving. She had begun to mistake the brief thrill of hurting someone else with actually feeling something sincere herself.

It was a whole lot of identity crisis to drop on a drunk hobbit when she was trying to go to sleep.

Bilbo didn’t know who she was in this new life, but she knew who she didn’t want to be. Understanding that much didn’t heal her wounds, but it did help her acknowledge that she didn’t want to use those wounds as an excuse to hurt others. Maybe there was nothing redeeming in her fool of a husband, but she hadn’t hated the time she spent with him at the forge. And he had shown care when they found her outside in the snow, and again on their wedding night when she was too drunk to take care of herself. Whatever he was, Thorin wasn’t all bad—Bilbo did know that.

Her last thought, as she drifted off in a drunken slumber, was that now she was going to have to do something about it.


	9. One Step Forward

“It doesn’t matter what you wanted, only what you have. Take the seeds you’re given and do your best to make them grow,” Bilbo intoned to her reflection the next day as she dressed. It was something her father used to say, and she had woken up thinking of her parents this morning. She’d also woken up with a pounding headache, but by midday it finally abated enough that she was able to stand up _and_ open her eyes at the same time. But being stuck in bed had given her plenty of time to reflect (soberly) on her life decisions and Bilbo was finally ready to take control. If Thorin never intended to seek intimacy with her—and Bilbo believed he fully intended to keep his keep his distance, especially after last night’s little performance—then she would just have to seek intimacy with him. They couldn’t stay strangers to each other for the rest of their lives; if she was going to hate him, she should at least know who he was and he deserved the same opportunity.

That stupid little voice was really proud of her for making this first step.

She set off, searching the upper levels to no avail. Just like Thorin to disappear right as she was finally ready to be nice, Bilbo grumbled to herself. Changing tactics, she searched out Balin and asked him very politely if he knew where Thorin was. Balin gave her that look that very clearly screamed, “Make good choices!” But he told her. Thorin was in the forges, most likely, so here she was making the long walk—on purpose this time—back there once again. The sounds of metal striking metal echoed off the stone as she approached, familiar to her now, but this time the memories of her third task, all those days she and Thorin had worked side-by-side, came rushing back as the heat and noise engulfed her. Even though they both knew her attempting to learn metalwork was pointless…he had tried. Thorin had upheld his duty and Bilbo was finally able to admit she appreciated that.

She wove her way through the forge until she found him, hammer in hand, working furiously. Sweat made the thin material of his shirt cling to him and his muscled arms and back bunched and rippled as he worked tirelessly. He didn’t seem to know she was there so Bilbo let herself watch him just as she had while he was sleeping. The easy strength of his body fascinated her—he was so different from the soft bodies of the hobbits she was used to. So different from her. His broad shoulders tapered to a muscled waist that flowed into powerful legs, and she remembered the feel of him behind her, his body flush against hers as he taught her to swing a hammer. Heat suffused her and she wondered if the forges were hotter today than normal.

He dropped the hammer, the water hissing as he put something in it to cool before dropping whatever it was on the table. Then he walked to the water barrel for a long drink.

“Do you have something to say or did you just plan on staring me to death?” He took another drink while waiting for her answer and Bilbo gave herself a shake. Turning to face her, he raised the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his eyes and her gaze locked on the dark swirls of hair dusting his abdomen, the path of hair disappearing into his pants and making Bilbo very aware of Dwalin’s words about a lifetime of celibacy.

“Uh, well,” she stammered, her brain gone totally blank. “I…I wanted to talk to you.”

“About?” he prompted irritably.

“That’s…a great question,” she said, trying to remember herself.

“I don’t have time for this Burglar,” he dismissed her, dropping the water ladle and turning back towards the hammer.

“Wait!” she called, yelling at her brain to get it together. “I thought that we…uh, that is that we might…I mean if we could…”

“Spit it out Burglar.”

“Do you have to call me that?”

“What.”

“You know what,” she said snippily.

“Burglar?” he answered, his turn now to take a shot at her. “But that’s your name.”

“It is not my name,” she argued. “My name is—”

“I know very well what your name is,” he cut her off. “And that’s not why you’re here. Be quick, I have a lot of work to do.”

Blowing out a frustrated breath Bilbo spit out her words in a rush. “Would you like to try not being enemies?”

He looked at her like she’d grown a second head.

“Look,” she said, “I know that you hate spending time with me but—”

“I never said I hate spending time with you.”

“Okay fine,” she sighed. “You don’t _want_ to spend time with me so—”

“Did you know,” he interrupted her again, “that you’re incredibly fond of telling _me_ what _I_ think and feel?”

“When,” she argued. “When have I ever done that.”

“Shall I go down the list?” he asked. “You insist I wanted to execute you, which I never did. You insist that I hate you, which I never have—though I’ll grant you, you’ve been working hard to change that. And now you insist that I’m the one who has refused to spend time together? I’m the one who won’t talk?”

Bilbo stared up at him and remembered their early days. Whatever he _wanted_ he had ordered; perhaps it wasn’t precisely her execution, but it felt like something so close the difference was inconsequential. And while he never said he hated her, he told her that being married to her was disgusting. But his frustration right now seemed sincere and she struggled to rectify those contradictions in her mind.

“Why did you marry me?” she asked him suddenly. Thorin looked intensely uncomfortable at the question.

“What do you mean why did I marry you—you know why I married you,” he said shortly.

“No,” Bilbo corrected, “why did you risk it? Why set the three tasks when you knew what was at stake?”

“I, uh, well,” he sighed, one hand running over his beard. “I didn’t think it would come to this,” he said quietly, “I truly didn’t. Dwarves don’t marry lightly. Had I known…had I not underestimated you, I never would have risked it.”

“You truly are your own worst enemy,” she said with no small amount of amazement in her tone. “I survived a labyrinth that should have killed me and then I outwrestled you for your copper penny.”

He winced. “I remember.”

“You should have known then,” she told him. “You should have known better then to underestimate me. But you just had to win and now here we are.”

“And now here we are.”

There was silence for a moment, the sounds of hammering unable to drown out the unspoken words between them. Shaking off the moment, Bilbo supposed if she was going to do it, the time had come.

“I…would…” she took a breath, wondering why this was so hard to say. “I would like to…eat together. Tonight. If you’re not busy.”

He didn’t know what to do with that any more than he had her question about their marriage.

“I don’t want to hate you,” she said quietly, and she didn’t miss the slight tightening of his features. “If this is my life now, so be it. Hobbits are not dwarves—we’re not made to carry this kind of rage and resentment around. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“As you wish,” he said, though his tone was incredibly wary.

“It’s not a trick,” she told him. “But we—” she gestured lamely between the two of them “and you know we’ve barely even—” she shrugged “so I thought maybe we should eat dinner.”

“You know, Burglar, you’re going to have to start using complete sentences if you want me to understand you.”

“I’m working on it,” she said exasperated. “It’s not like you make things easy.”

“Amazing,” he said, shaking his head. “Truly amazing.”

“What is?” she asked.

“That you come find me with no warning, and even after I accede to your wishes something is still my fault,” he said, turning back to his worktable. “I will see you tonight then.”

He went back to his work, the clang of metal making further conversation impossible. Bilbo stood there for one more, awkward moment, before she turned and headed back to the upper levels.

She didn’t _want_ to be angry at him; that certainly hadn’t been why she sought him out, but he made everything so blasted difficult. _She_ had come to him. _She_ was attempting to initiate conversation and, still, by the end he treated her like an annoyance, an irritant he was forced to tolerate.

“I’m trying _okay_?!”

“What’s that lass? Who are you speaking to?”

Bilbo nearly jumped out of her skin when she realized she’d wandered back into a busy corridor and bustling dwarves were giving her strange looks at her outburst. Balin cocked an eyebrow, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Balin, sorry, I—” she let it hang there, unable to explain what she was doing. She really did need to work on finishing her sentences.

“You owe me no explanation lass,” Balin reassured her. “But perhaps you would join me in the kitchens for some tea? I was just on my way for some afternoon vittles if you take my meaning.”

“I do,” she smiled, and her still tender head was grateful he said tea and not beer. She was happy Balin had found her; there were days these past few months when his company was all that kept her from sliding into despair, and Bilbo was strangely excited to share with him her latest frustration with Thorin. She supposed Balin had become the closest thing she had to a confidant.

They settled into their favorite alcove—well, her favorite alcove anyway, and he motioned for her to sit then left and came back with tea and snacks. Bilbo immediately snatched two pastries off the plate.

“I told you, best desserts in Middle Earth,” Balin winked at her. “Now you tell me, what is it you’re trying so hard to do?”

Bilbo gave a tremendous snort. “Make the best of a terrible situation I suppose. Wasn’t that what you told me to do?”

“I only asked you to look at who you wanted to be,” Balin corrected her. “And to compare that to who you were becoming.”

“Well do you want to have the same talk with Thorin?” she sighed. “Because I went and found him today and I was so damn pleasant. I even asked him to eat with me tonight! And he acted like it was some kind of a trick.”

“He can be a difficult dwarf,” Balin nodded. “No two ways about it. Some are convinced yours is a love match, and others that you cheated your way onto the throne. But I know it wasn’t what either you or Thorin wanted and that makes moving forward a mite more complicated.”

“Who thinks I cheated?” she demanded.

“Easy lass easy,” he laughed. “Is everyone in your family as quick to temper as you are?”

“The Bagginses are a well-respected family in Hobbiton,” she said in her most dignified tone. “I am a Baggins of Bag End and I would never cheat my way onto anyone’s throne.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he replied, and Bilbo sighed.

“It’s true the Tooks have been accused of being…unusual,” she conceded. “At one point they were even notorious for going on adventures.”

“Notorious for going on adventures?” Balin gave a full-belly laugh. “Oh, you hobbits are an amusing folk I can’t deny you that. So, you’re saying you come by it natural then.”

Bilbo grinned a little sheepishly. “I suppose.”

Balin raised his cup, “Mayhap you two just need to work through some things.”

“Well, if that isn’t the understatement of the year,” she muttered. Then louder said, “The problem is he keeps acting like…like I’m trying to lure him into a trap.”

“Ah,” Balin nodded. “It’s like that is it.”

“It’s like what?” she begged. “What don’t I know?”

Balin shook his head and Bilbo thought she might scream. He must have seen her frustration, though, because he sat back looking very tired, and finally said, “You aren’t the first who would be queen.” Bilbo didn’t know what she was expecting, but that wasn’t it.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “I’ve never heard of a Queen Under the Mountain.”

“Nor would you,” he said. “It was a very long time ago. We were barely back in Erebor, and a pretty dwarven lass showed up asking for sanctuary. Claimed she was being chased by orcs and she’d lost her family on the trip from the Blue Mountains. Thorin was…different then. Kinder, less guarded.”

Bilbo rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, she broke his heart and ran off with his best friend leaving him an embittered king hardened to the plights of others.”

“No,” Balin laughed softly, “though I can see why you’d think that’s where this was going. No, if that’s all she’d done I think he would have recovered.”

That piqued her interest. “What happened?”

But Balin shook his head, sitting back. “It’s not my place to say,” he told her. “But you should know there are reasons for Thorin’s behavior. He works hard to be a fair and just king, even when he’s presented with few options.”

“I’d settle for him being fair and just with me,” Bilbo said, taking a long drink.

“I know,” Balin said. “And there are things you deserve to know, but they can’t come from me—ye need to ask him about it directly.”

“I’m sure that will go as smoothly as having tea with a dragon,” she grumbled.

“Eat another pastry and I’ll tell you about the time Dwalin woke up in a hayloft naked, cuddling a goat,” Balin winked. Her curiosity burned, but Bilbo knew better than to try and move a dwarf who had made up their mind. Balin would tell her nothing else of Thorin or this mysterious former love and any attempt to force the issue would only ruin a fine afternoon with good company. So, Bilbo did as he said and took another pastry with resigned smile. Besides, who didn’t want to know how Dwalin woke up naked, cuddling a goat.

***

Bilbo wiled away the rest of the afternoon with Balin, but her mind kept turning over the problem of how to approach Thorin about his past. When the time finally came to say goodbye and she left for her rooms—their rooms, Bilbo corrected herself, even if Thorin didn’t come back last night—she wasn’t any closer to having a plan. He’d never been forthcoming with personal details and Bilbo didn’t expect that was going to change, but now that she knew there was something other than general surliness behind his behavior, she was burning to know what.

“You’re late,” he said as she walked through the door. Dinner was already laid out in the parlor, and despite the generous amount of food she’d eaten with Balin all afternoon, her stomach grumbled.

“I was visiting with Balin,” she told him, sitting down and filling her plate.

“Hm,” he grunted.

They ate in silence—Thorin with a grumpy expression and Bilbo trying to build up her courage. She watched him furtively, searching for some hint or sign that he had relaxed since earlier.

“What is it Burglar?” he demanded suddenly. Bilbo flushed, embarrassed at being caught staring. Again.

“Balin mentioned a story today,” she said, trying for nonchalance. “But he wouldn’t tell me the details. He said I should ask you.”

“Hm.”

She took another bite as her questions ran through her mind. “He said there were those who thought that I, well that is—”

“Please get to the point Burglar,” Thorin interrupted. Bilbo briefly fantasized about sticking her fork in his face; it was like he was _trying_ to be unreasonable.

“Some think I did this on purpose, marrying you,” she said quickly. “You thought that at one time.”

“Who says I stopped,” he muttered.

“ _Because_ ,” she spoke over him, determined to push through, “I’m not…this wasn’t the first time you were to be married.” Thorin froze, his food an inch off the table, every muscle in his body taut.

“What,” he asked, voice deadly quiet, “did Balin tell you about this other time.”

“Nothing,” she shrugged. “He said it wasn’t his story to tell, and that I should ask you.”

“Was this your plan when you badgered me into dinner?” he asked. “To interrogate me about my past?”

“I’m not—” Bilbo snapped and then swallowed the rest of her words. He was deliberately trying to provoke her, and she would not take the bait. “I’m just trying to understand.”

But instead of saying anything else Thorin looked at her like she was a snake he planned to stomp on.

“Am I to be married to you but never know you?” she asked. “Should I stop trying to talk to you?”

“Know me,” he laughed meanly. “Why would I tell you anything, Burglar, when you’ve made it clear you’re only joy comes from attacking me?”

“Don’t you _dare_ play the victim,” she said hotly. “I wasn’t the one who was so sure of my victory that I gambled both of our lives! I’m doing my best to handle this whole forced marriage thing.”

“You puked on our wedding night and spent the next four days comatose when you weren’t crying,” Thorin reminded her. “If this is your best—”

“I was grieving you heartless ass!”

“And I’m not?” he shot back. “Dwarves marry _forever_ Burglar—tradition demands I honor my wife whether I trust her or not.”

“Does tradition demand you treat me like this is my fault?” she asked. “Do you think I wanted you to throw me in that labyrinth?”

“Must we always come back to that,” Thorin growled, stomping away from the table to the other side of the room. “I’ve explained myself already. It is up to you to make peace with it.”

“Up to me to—” Bilbo bent and screamed through gritted teeth. She stood up, hands on her hips, and focused on calming down. She wasn’t here to fight, Bilbo reminded herself, breathing in. She was here to understand, breathing out. “When, precisely, did you explain yourself? During one of the tasks you forced me to complete because of your pride or maybe it was afterwards when you were annoyed by my reaction at being forced into marriage.”

“You conveniently forget that I didn’t, and still don’t know your true motives,” Thorin said, prowling towards her. “You forget that I found you, alone next to my throne reaching for my crown jewel. And you forget that when I attempted to end it with nothing more than a night in the dungeons, you fought me. And when I told you not to complete that last task _you did it anyway_.” He was in her space now, but Bilbo wouldn’t be intimidated by him, not anymore.

“And you conveniently forget that I had no reason to believe you or do what you said!” she spat in his face. “None! You didn’t explain your motives, you didn’t explain what could happen, you simply _assumed_ that you had everything under control. It was your pride that got us into this and now it’s your pride making you act like a donkey’s ass instead of just answering my damn question!”

With a growl Thorin spun away from her and marched towards the door.

“And now you run away like a coward,” she said. He stiffened and turned.

“I am not running away,” he replied. “I no longer wish to be in your presence.”

The door slammed behind him and Bilbo nodded, then sat back down to the abandoned dinner. Taking a bite, she sighed heavily, “That went about as well as expected.”

***

The next day brought a bevy of surprises. She had woken when Thorin came back to bed last night and again when he left early in the morning, but he said nothing and she thought they were back to ignoring each other. When the summons came for her to join him in the throne room, she practically accused the messenger of lying to her.

“Why would he send for me?” she responded once the dwarf had delivered the message.

“State’s business, your majesty,” the dwarf shrugged awkwardly. “I was just told to fetch you.”

“Yes, well,” she harrumphed, taking a moment to make sure she was presentable. “Lead on then I guess.”

Thorin said nothing when she arrived, merely handed her that damn crown she’d been so proud of and gestured to the throne that now sat next to his. Bilbo dutifully took her seat, bursting with questions, but she knew that pestering him during an official court reception probably wasn’t the best idea, so she sat quietly and tried not to look too curious.

The herald announced the arrival of a new emissary from Mirkwood. His name was Galeon and he wore the green and brown leathers of all his kin; clothes designed to help him vanish amongst the leaves and branches of his home forest, but that made him stick out like a sore thumb amongst the dwarves. It was a feeling she understood well, and Bilbo immediately liked him. Thorin, on the other hand, was a harder sell.

“To the King and Queen Under the Mountain,” Galeon swept a low bow. “I am Galeon, emissary of Mirkwood come to foster good will between our peoples in the hopes that we might someday be better neighbors.”

“Welcome Galeon” Thorin said, saying the appropriate words even if he didn’t sound like he meant it. “Our home is open to you and we hope you’ll find your stay with us restful.”

“It is the wish of my king for me to stay with you until spring, when the trade talks may resume with Lake-Town and we may all come to an agreement over the traffic of goods on the river,” Galeon said.

“I don’t doubt that your king wishes a great many things,” Thorin said coldly, but he agreed to the terms. “You will be given quarters. Please let us know if you need anything during your time here.”

Bilbo was surprised at Thorin’s easy acceptance of an elf into their midst, and she spitefully wondered if he was too tired from being an ass to her to show the elf his usual disdain. But, after a moment’s contemplation, she could understand why Thorin agreed; the river traffic was a necessary by-way for all trade that came and went through Erebor and that river flowed through Mirkwood. If he wasn’t willing to discuss terms civilly, then the dwarves would have to either transport all goods by land or fight for the rights to control the river themselves. She thought again of his protestations to her about the power of perception and why he must always appear an unchallengeable king regardless of reality. Perhaps there was _some_ truth to it.

As soon as she could, Bilbo escaped the twisted intrigues and empty words of the courtiers and made her way to the battlements. She tipped her head up to the breeze, enjoying its brisk touch on her skin. It was still cold, but the bite of winter was gone, and Bilbo smelled the promises of spring in the air. Time was passing even if it felt interminable.

“Your majesty,” a smooth voice drew her from her thoughts.

“Welcome Galeon,” she greeted him with a wide smile. “I was just dreaming of spring.”

“I imagine it must be difficult to be a hobbit trapped inside this cold mountain,” he replied.

“Oh, it’s not cold,” she said. “Different from my home, yes, but the warm hearths and hearts make Erebor anything but cold.”

“You sound as if you’ve grown fond of your new home,” he said with a gentle smile. Then looked far away to the west where Mirkwood was barely a shadow on the horizon. “I don’t think I could leave the paths my ancestors walked—not for any longer than this assignment anyway.”

“It has taken some,” Bilbo shrugged, looking for the word, “adjusting. But there are worse places in Middle Earth to be.” As she heard her own words, Bilbo was surprised to realize she believed them. When had her perspective changed, she wondered.

“If I may ask,” Galeon said, “how did a hobbit from the Shire come to be Queen Under the Mountain?”

She laughed. “Through accidents and misunderstandings mostly,” she answered with a sardonic grin.

“Forgive me,” the elf apologized, misunderstanding her humor. “My inquiry was too familiar.”

“No, no,” she waved him off. “It isn’t that at all. It’s just that, well, that story is complicated. But I’m sure you’ll hear the bards sing their version at a feast. They do love the part with the dragon.”

“One forgets we stand over such fearsome terror,” Galeon said seriously. “Nothing protects us except for the magic that traps him in the heart of the mountain.”

“Lucky for us, then, it is such strong magic.”

“Lucky indeed,” he said, giving her a warm smile.

They talked for hours. Galeon was easy company and Bilbo found herself entranced by him. His manner was gentle and quiet, and he asked her about her home, her family, her favorite thing about Erebor and her least favorite. They talked until the sun had begun its descent below the horizon and a cold gust tore across the battlements making her shiver violently.

“My apologies for talking so long your majesty,” Galeon said, ushering her back inside. “I hope I didn’t keep you from important business.”

“Nonsense!” she laughed. “And please, call me Bilbo. I’m used to my new titles now, but I don’t prefer them.”

“Of course,” Galeon bowed. They said their goodbyes with plans to talk more on the morrow and Bilbo took off towards the kitchens with a spring in her step. She made a new friend today. Things were looking up.

Dinner was a fine affair—she knew enough dwarves now that they welcomed her at their tables, ensuring she had good company to go with her good food. Bilbo finished, intending to retreat to her room, but she was lured into staying for a second pipe by the performance of a new song. The dwarf singing it danced on the tabletops, his feet stomping a rhythm that had Bilbo tapping her feet and then clapping and singing along by the end. When they all finally dispersed, Bilbo found she was no longer ready to go back to the dreary isolation of the royal suite. So instead, she relocated to her favorite alcove, tucked away from the common area but still part of it. She sat down before the crackling logs with her book, letting the warmth of the fire soothe her.

She was dozing, the book forgotten on her lap when Thorin’s voice drew her back to awareness. He and Balin entered and she knew they hadn’t noticed her.

“I am tired of your pestering Balin,” Thorin was saying, a steaming bowl in his hands. “I am hungry, and I have spent the day talking with elves can we not eat in peace?” She hated the way he said “elves,” like it was a dirty word; Galeon had been well-mannered and perfectly cordial. She shut her book, getting ready to announce herself when Balin’s words stopped her.

“I’m only pestering because you’re too stubborn to see the mountain right in front of you,” Balin said. “You forced that lass into those games. Just because you were sure she would lose doesn’t change that she didn’t, and now you refuse to make peace with the consequences.”

“I married her, didn’t I?” Bilbo flinched at Thorin’s tone.

“Aye, and what have you done since?” Balin challenged. “She’s trying hard to adjust to life here, but you won’t even talk to the lass.”

“I tried,” Thorin said tightly, “you know I tried.”

“You were _polite_ ,” Balin corrected him, “and now you’re not even that anymore. I know how hard this is for you, why you you’re terrified to trust her, but you can’t keep punishing her for Corin’s betrayal.”

There was a terrible crash and Bilbo jumped. Thorin had kicked a bench, sending it crashing into the other furniture around it.

“ _Never_ say that name in my presence again.” His voice was low and dangerous, and Bilbo felt her pulse pick up. She had never seen that look on his face before—she had long since stopped being afraid of him, but Bilbo suddenly worried he might attack Balin. This Corin had to be who Balin had been talking about, and Bilbo was suddenly very cross with the old dwarf. If the mere mention of her name made Thorin lash out, how did Balin expect it to go when he sent her to ask Thorin for the details without any warning?

When Balin spoke, his voice was low and soothing. “I’m not trying to upset you lad, you know that, but you can’t keep flying into a killing rage every time she’s mentioned.”

There was a heavy sigh, the pressure in the room easing slightly. “I do know that,” Thorin said, calmer but voice still tight. “But you also know why I can’t speak of this. And you damn well know better than to tell my fool wife to ask me about it.”

Bilbo didn’t love hearing herself described that way.

“But you’re making her pay for sins she knows nothing about,” Balin persisted. “She’s given you no cause, no reason to be suspicious—”

“She wandered directly into the throne room during a feast when no one was there,” Thorin said. “And then she somehow didn’t know enough to stay away from the throne and the jewel embedded in it?”

“She’s a hobbit,” Balin argued. “Their ways aren’t like ours.”

“And I wasn’t trying to hurt her,” Thorin said, intensity fueling his words. “I was angry, but I don’t murder people for being fools! But first Gandalf and then she wouldn’t shut up and Thranduil knew throwing a hobbit in the labyrinth was monstrous and forcing me to choose between that and war would make me a monster. How could I risk my kingdom for a lone hobbit? How could I risk the lives of all those who would be lost if the elves declared war? All I could do was ask Gandalf to help her however he could. He couldn’t risk any magic that might free the dragon, but he made sure she made it through—giving her the best possible odds wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.”

Bilbo’s heart was thudding in her chest. He had asked Gandalf to help her? Thranduil was threatening war when he suggested she be thrown in the labyrinth? Bilbo was glad she was already sitting down as her worldview tilted and tried to realign itself.

“You only did what you had to,” Balin agreed. “Gandalf making sure she made it to the dragon at least gave her a chance. None of us holds that against you.”

“She does,” Thorin snorted.

“Does she know why you did it?” Balin challenged. “Have you ever explained it to her?”

“I don’t want to explain myself to her!” Thorin exploded. “I admitted to my part of the blame, and still she treats me like the mad king she first thought me to be. What would you have me do, go to her on my knees and tell her the sordid details of my life in the hopes she might forgive me? I don’t trust her with that knowledge. _I_ _can’t_ , and that will never change.”

“And why not?” Balin asked quietly. “Because she won’t forgive you or because you’re scared she will?”

“This marriage was necessary, but it was also a mistake and I won’t make that mistake worse by trying to pretend we’re something we aren’t,” Thorin asserted. “Tied forever to a monster with no chance of happiness—I should have sent her back to the Shire as soon as she survived the labyrinth.”

Bilbo choked, her book dropping to the ground before her. His words landed like a physical blow— _tied forever to a monster_. She didn’t want to hear anymore, couldn’t hear anymore, she pushed up from the chair intent only on escape. But Thorin and Balin were already there, both staring at her with horrified expressions.

“Burglar,” Thorin said in a choked voice, “that wasn’t—I didn’t—"

But Bilbo was already shaking her head. First disgusting and now a monster. He detested her so much more than Bilbo even feared.

“Easy lass,” Balin said gently, his hands outstretched. “You didn’t hear what you think you did.”

But Bilbo was shaking her head; she wouldn’t be convinced to try again after this. _Tied forever to a monster with no chance of happiness_. Bilbo imagined wrapping chains around the metal box inside her, locking away that last piece of her heart with a padlock. Her attempts to reach out to Thorin hadn’t made progress because there was never any progress to be made. How could there be when this was what he thought of her.

She shoved past them. Balin was her _friend_ , but another, more insidious thought muscled in: did he know this whole time how Thorin felt? Did he convince Bilbo to make peace with Thorin knowing it could only ever be a facsimile? Knowing that whatever kindness Thorin showed her was stemming from pity? Pity for this horrible hobbit he had tied to himself? As she raced away Bilbo fought with herself, fought with her emotions and her sadness and her desperation. She wouldn’t cry, she promised, not anymore. She was done shedding tears because of Thorin Oakenshield.

She didn’t know if Thorin would come back to the room that night, but she certainly wasn’t going to risk it. Taking bedclothes and pillows out into the parlor, Bilbo made up a bed for herself on the floor. And as she lay there falling asleep, she asked herself why she hadn’t thought of this earlier. There would be no more playing along except in moments that were absolutely necessary. She wouldn’t try to build bridges or get to know him. She’d finally gotten a glimpse inside the mind of Thorin and he was right—she had no intention of forgiving him.


	10. The Secret Garden

The next morning, she was tired and crabby, but she set off to explore new parts of Erebor far away from busy dwarves and their heartless king. She achieved her goal, getting so turned around Bilbo wasn’t even sure which way was the way she came. As the hours ticked by, she started feeling a little desperate and began opening every door she came across in search of something that looked familiar. She even paused and listened hard for the sounds of the forges, but when nothing but eerie silence surrounded her, Bilbo started to worry she somehow stumbled back into the labyrinth. Dust and cobwebs littered the hall, and it was clear no one had been here in quite some time. Another door appeared before her and she approached it cautiously until she saw it was decorated with scrollwork so intricate and loving she knew she couldn’t be in the labyrinth. This area had obviously once been lovingly tended.

It took some effort to get it open, but when the door finally gave way with a “pop” Bilbo got a face full of cool, fresh air. She was at the base of the mountain and the sun shone bright and clear on what looked like a beautiful little meadow. She gasped, clapping her hands in delight. It was absolutely _perfect_. Despite the long shadows the mountain would cast in the afternoon, she could tell there was good light here for growing things. And while the ground was still cold and hard, the snow was coming less and less lately. Spring would be here some day and when it came Bilbo now had the perfect place to plant her garden.

It was out of the way, clearly no dwarves used this area and hadn’t for years, and that meant it could be _hers_. Her own, wonderful secret. Her own private space.

It was far too early to begin planting, of course, but she worked on gathering tools over the next few days and stored them in the dry hallway next to the door. Seeds were limited, but when she saw some that had potential, she squirreled them away, looking at them in her palm when she was alone and imagining how they would grow. No longer sharing a bed meant she didn’t need to worry about awkward questions from Thorin about how she spent her days, but when Balin asked her to share a pint one night Bilbo dodged his questions. As complicated as she felt, she had come to love the old dwarf and she didn’t want to lose that. But she also didn’t trust him as much as she used to—she couldn’t when there was so much he wouldn’t tell her. So, she enjoyed his company and shared her stories of the Shire, but she didn’t mention what she was up to and immediately shut down any conversation about the night she overheard them talking. Unexpectedly it was Galeon, the emissary from Mirkwood, who she first took into her confidence.

He found her one morning and she meant to send him away—her plan was to dedicate herself to the researching the agriculture and soil of the region. But he convinced her instead to take a trip into Dale. It was close and the sun was warm and bright today, so Bilbo let herself be persuaded, and as they left the mountain behind them and a warm breeze teased her, Bilbo was ecstatic that she had.

The market was bustling; the bravest merchants had already arrived with carts full of goods and treats. Bilbo discovered one stall full of cakes that smelled so delicious her stomach rumbled and she went to buy one until she realized she hadn’t brought any money. Embarrassed she offered her apologies, but the shopkeeper wrapped two up and insisted she take them with her.

“For the Queen of Erebor, it would be my honor!” Touched by the gesture Bilbo made a note to send money back tomorrow. These hardworking people deserved to be paid for their labor, and since she was queen, she reminded herself, there was no reason she couldn’t ensure that happened.

As the day wore on, Bilbo felt her spirits start to rise. Galeon even drew a laugh from her as they rode back into Erebor, and she jumped at his invitation to talk more the next day. Bilbo left the stables, intent on dropping off the seeds she’d found at the market, but she turned the corner and froze at the sound of Thorin calling out to her.

“Burglar!”

She set off at an increased pace wishing she could run from him without every dwarf in Erebor taking note of it.

“Burglar,” Thorin called again, this time with more irritation as he hurried after her. “Would you,” a hand latched around her arm, halting her flight, “wait!”

Bilbo jerked her arm free and crossed her arms over her chest, preparing herself for whatever fresh torture this conversation would bring.

“Mahal, you make things difficult,” he muttered.

She raised her eyebrows and gave him a look that clearly said, “Really?”

“I wanted,” he tried, then stopped and cleared his throat. “That is about the other night, I, uh—”

“You know you need to start using complete sentences if you want me to understand you,” she said meanly. This time Thorin had the good sense to look embarrassed.

“What you heard wasn’t what you thought,” he said. “I wanted you to know that.”

“Obviously, I wasn’t meant to overhear it,” Bilbo replied. “Good day.” She turned to leave, and he grabbed her arm again. She jerked away from his grip and snarled at him. “Don’t touch me!”

Thorin held up his hands in apology. “It was a misunderstanding,” he tried again.

“You were right about one thing,” she said. He looked at her quizzically and she said, “You should have sent me back to the Shire when you had the chance, but whatever you think of me, I won’t let you turn me into a monster.”

He looked at her, no more words forthcoming and, this time when she turned to leave, he let her.

To think she had once thought to build some kind of future with him, to find a way towards, if not love, at least respect and appreciation. Her irritation carried through the night and the next day Bilbo when Galeon found her she struggled to hide her distraction.

“Bilbo!” he greeted her good-naturedly.

“Hello Galeon,” she smiled at him. “And how are you this day?” But elf was scrutinizing her, as if her restless night and frustrated soul were as visible to him as the weariness on her face.

“You are tired,” he said seriously. “Do you need rest? Should I leave you?”

“No, no,” she reassured him. “Just trouble sleeping last night is all. I was just about to head into Dale, make sure the payments were delivered and maybe buy more of those delicious cakes.”

“Then let me accompany you,” Galeon requested. “I will serve as your protector and entertainer—who is more fun to share stories with than an elf?”

“I would be honored,” Bilbo laughed.

The town was in full swing when they arrived, and Bilbo chatted with a few merchants and made sure her payments had reached the others. By midday she was famished and she and Galeon stopped in at the tavern. It was bustling with others seeking hot food and a bit of warm company. Bilbo devoured her stew when it arrived—they had skipped second breakfast, something Galeon seemed to know nothing about—and she almost groaned in delight as she dipped fresh bread in the thick gravy and took a bite.

“Do you enjoy all your food this much or is this stew particularly tasty,” Galeon laughed.

“Hobbits appreciate good food,” she told him. “But the cook seems to have outdone themselves today.”

“A generous ruler, a fierce warrior, and now a connoisseur,” Galeon said with wonder. “Is there anything you can’t do I wonder?”

Bilbo choked, washing down her bite a swallow of ale. “There is plenty I can’t do,” she assured him, thinking Thorin would be happy to make him a list. “And who thinks I’m a fierce warrior? Is that how the bards are describing me now?”

“Their songs of you are flattering,” he laughed. “But you survived the labyrinth and the dragon! How can you say you’re anything else?”

“I assure you it wasn’t a warrior’s spirit that got me through that labyrinth,” she said.

“Surely you won’t claim luck,” he challenged.

“I thought it was,” she said sardonically and then thought of that blasted conversation again and the revelation of Gandalf’s help. She still wasn’t sure how to process that news, and she didn’t want to try. Instead, she simply said, “You never know who’s watching out for you.”

“How mysterious,” Galeon waggled his eyebrows. “Does our queen have hidden magics on her side?”

“Me? No,” she said. “But there are secrets of the labyrinth left by Saruman and without them I don’t think I could have made it.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself,” he said, raising his mug in a toast. “Truly, you are one impressive hobbit.”

“Don’t let my regal title fool you,” she rejoined, joining him in the toast. “I remain a simple hobbit who wants nothing more than good food and good friends.”

Later, she and Galeon returned to the mountain, laughing and smiling, and Bilbo suddenly wanted to share her secret with someone. She wanted to have someone to talk to about it, and to revel with in anticipation.

“I found a meadow,” she said, munching on treats as they walked through the gates. “It’s absolutely perfect for a garden.”

“That sounds wonderful!” he congratulated her. His smile was contagious, and Bilbo relaxed a little more at his response. “When do you hope to start planting?”

“Soon,” she said. “One of the merchants claims there’s one more snowstorm coming, so I don’t want to rush it.”

“I used to spend hours foraging in the woods,” Galeon said wistfully. “When the nuts and berries ripened, I think I ate more than the birds.”

Bilbo laughed. “I do wish I could find some wildflower seeds,” she told him. “I’ve no idea what grows in these parts besides pine trees and the farm crops.”

“I know of someone,” Galeon said eagerly. “A herbalist who lives next to the river. Last I was there, they had all sorts of dried flowers and herbs. If you’d like I could take you to them.”

“Oh yes!” Bilbo clapped her hands excitedly. “How far are they?”

“Surprisingly close,” he reassured her. “A half day’s walk at most. It would be a grand adventure.”

“Can we go tomorrow?”

“I don’t see why not,” he grinned, and Bilbo didn’t hide her excitement.

“Do you want to see it?” she asked him. “You can help me decide what to plant!”

“Perfect,” Galeon said, sweeping a regal bow. “Lead on your majesty.”

She led Galeon through twisting corridors and past bustling folk going about their day until it was just the two of them standing in silence outside the beautifully carved door. With a big smile, she opened the door and led the elf outside to the snow-covered patch.

Their feet crunched the snow beneath them, but Bilbo already saw pockmarks where the sun had begun melting it. She plotted in her mind where the rows would go, what she would plant and where. She imagined the wildflowers ringing the edges blooming in bursts of vibrant color.

“I think it’s perfect,” Galeon said. “I would love to help if you’ll let me. Living in Erebor makes me long for green, growing things.”

“I know exactly how you feel,” Bilbo told him as they walked back into the mountain. “There is beauty in the stone, but it isn’t the same.”

They went back into the mountain and Bilbo was momentarily blinded as her eyes adjusted, but after shutting the door she turned to find Thorin watching them come inside. She eyed him warily, noting how he stood rigidly, his features locked in an expression of stony rage.

“Thorin?” she asked tentatively. There was something about the angry pain burning in his gaze that reminded her of the night she worried he would attack Balin.

“What are you doing here,” he answered, his voice grinding like a millstone.

“I found it,” she answered him. “I’m going to plant a garden here.”

“Are you now,” Thorin said. “And the elf? What exactly is he _planting_ in your garden?”

Bilbo sucked in a breath. “Galeon is my friend,” she said tightly, “and he was kind enough to keep me company today. Am I not allowed to have friends now?”

His eyes burned with blue fire, boring into hers and she stared back angrily daring him to attack. Bilbo was done with his games and his secrets and his mood swings. One minute he called her a monster and then he claimed she misunderstood and only a day later he was staring her down as if he would throw her back in the labyrinth.

“Bilbo perhaps we should—” Galeon began, but Thorin’s voice snapped across the corridor like a whip.

“Leave us elf.” Galeon looked to Bilbo, his worry clear on his face, but she nodded for him to go. Whatever Thorin was angry about she didn’t want Galeon to be punished for it.

Their silence echoed between them until Galeon disappeared down the hall. Thorin stood there so long Bilbo began to wonder if he planned to speak at all but then he stalked towards her and she took a step back before planting her feet and setting her jaw.

“This area is off limits,” Thorin told her in a low voice.

“Why?” Bilbo demanded.

“Because I said so.”

“Because you—” Her temper exploded. “No! I will not let you take this from me too!”

“Take it from you?!” he thundered. “You have no idea who this belonged to—no idea who carved that door and why!”

“Are they here? Has anyone used this space in years? Why lock it away except because you’re a spiteful, vicious dwarf!”

“How did you find this door?!” Thorin roared. Bilbo did take a step back then, his rage scaring her.

“I understand that there’s no such thing as divorce for dwarves,” she snarled at him, “but there is for hobbits. I am leaving this accursed place and I am leaving _you_ and may we never speak again.” She went to storm past him, but his hand shot out, wrapping around her arm.

“We’re not done here,” he growled at her.

“I’m done with you,” she yelled at him. “You are the real monster. I should have taken my chances with Mirkwood after all.”

Thorin’s face twisted and then he grabbed her, shaking her harshly. “Are you plotting with Mirkwood, Corin?!”

“THORIN!” Someone slammed into Thorin, knocking him away from her and then Balin was there, grabbing her and pulling her away while she fought with her shock. That name, Bilbo had heard that name before.

“Come on lass,” Balin said gently, pulling her down the hall, away from the struggling forms of Dwalin and Thorin. “He’s not in his right mind.”

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked, as Balin led her away. “I’ve never seen him like this.”

“He carved that door for the dwarven lass he was supposed to marry,” Balin said in a soft, sad voice. “And she betrayed him to the elves. Seeing you here with that elf…this couldn’t have gone worse if Thranduil himself had planned it.”

Bilbo shook her head, sick of this life and its mysteries that were to be kept forever locked away.

“I’m going back to the Shire,” she told Balin. “I don’t care what the risks are. I won’t stay here another day. Not with him.”

“Easy now lass, the roads are still covered in snow,” Balin tried.

“The traders are making the journey,” she said. “I’ve seen them in Dale. I can ask to travel with one of them.”

“You can’t trust they’ll not betray you,” Balin pushed. “Once you’re out on the road you’d fetch a pretty penny from anyone who knew your worth to Thorin.”

She snorted. “What worth can I possibly have to him. I won’t stay.”

“Okay, okay,” Balin said and she hated that he was placating her. “Let’s get back to your room and have a think.”

No, Bilbo wanted to shout, no, no, _no!_ She had no intention of having “a think.” She meant what she said, and she didn’t care about the risks. They couldn’t be worse than what she faced staying here.

Balin was quiet until they reached her room and Bilbo went in, expecting the old dwarf to leave her in peace but instead he followed her in. She glared at him as he shut the door behind him, but he only made his way to the fire and sat down in her favorite chair. When he pulled out his pipe, Bilbo decided she had enough.

“I’m not interested in talking,” she snapped, rifling through her things for warm clothes and provisions.

“You don’t have to talk,” Balin said companionably. “I’m going to talk, and you can decide whether or not you want to listen.”

Bilbo grunted. She wasn’t going to stop him, she knew, but she didn’t have to be gracious about it.

“Did Thorin tell you his grandfather went mad?” Balin started, but Bilbo didn’t bother answering, and, true to his word, Balin continued. “Madness runs in his family. I think we all worried the Arkenstone would wear on him, that he would succumb to the illness instead of leading his people. But he surprised us. We had to face the dragon to retrieve it—I was one of the one’s that went with him—and he abandoned the stone to save me. I’d fallen and was about to be burned alive when Thorin pulled me to safety. That is bravery worthy of a king.”

He paused, taking a long draw on his pipe, and Bilbo told herself she wasn’t interested. She didn’t care.

“But there were more dwarves in that chamber and the dragon hated us all. After me, Thorin ran back into the room and drew its attention, tried to distract it while the others got to safety. I got my feet under me and snatched up the stone even while I cursed that lad for being ten kinds of fool. What were we going to do if he died? Who would take care of us then? But he was quick on his feet and, in the end, the dragon was smarter than us all.” He took another pause.

“What happened?” Bilbo bit her tongue, but it was too late. The words were already out.

“The dragon knew what Thorin was doing,” Balin said sadly, “and Smaug knew there was a room full of vulnerable dwarves trapped in there with him. When he knocked Thorin off a pile of gold, instead of searching for him, Smaug turned on the rest. You can still hear their screams when the wind howls through the mountain.”

Bilbo sat down heavily on the ground, Balin’s description taking the fight right out of her and sending her back to that awful room and its choking terror. She could imagine those screams. She had almost been one of those screams.

Balin gave himself a shake, coming back to the present. “But we had the stone and Thorin survived. We were able to begin rebuilding—we could take credit out with the merchants, make deals with Dale. They were all rebuilding same as us, the dragon ravaged their town same as the mountain. And then one day in rides this pretty dwarven lass, beard a rich chestnut color. Claimed she’d come from the Blue Mountains and that orcs had killed her family. Begged Thorin to take her in.”

Bilbo glared at the fire, telling herself she didn’t care.

“He loved that her with all the passion of a dwarf,” Balin said. “Our love runs as deep and strong as the stone and to discover that love was false…that’s enough to break the best of us. I don’t think Thorin avoided the madness of his family. I think that lass made him as sick as the Arkenstone made his grandfather.”

Bilbo tipped her head back and wondered what he wanted her to do with this. “What do you mean false? What did he discover?”

Balin gave her a heavy look. “I know you’ll be mad at me, but I won’t give you the details, that’s not the dwarven way. Something this personal…it’s gotta come from the dwarf. But I will say,” he held up his pipe, forestalling her oath, “that Corin turned out to be a spy of Thranduil. No one ever thought it, a dwarf working for the elves.” Balin shook his head, sadness deepening the creases in his face. “She claimed she wanted a garden, a little spot to make things grow so Thorin built that for her and carved their love into that door. And then she used it to defile him and the kingdom.”

Bilbo stared back at the fire, pondering this new revelation. Balin tapped out his pipe and rose, making his way slowly to the door. He turned back but then shook his head as if thinking better of it and left, leaving Bilbo to her thoughts. But Bilbo wasn’t thinking, she was planning. The question wasn’t if she was going to leave. The question was how soon could she be gone.

***

The knock on her door came just as Bilbo finished packing her bag. She yanked it open, ready to yell at Balin that she didn’t want another of his half-finished stories, but the words died in her mouth when she saw Galeon standing there.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “I was worried about you. These dwarves can’t be trusted.”

“Dwarf,” Bilbo corrected him. “The dwarves are fine. It’s the dwarf I married that’s the problem. But yes, I’m fine thank you.”

“Can I—” Galeon paused, looking around the empty hallway behind him. “Can I come in?”

Bilbo stepped back allowing him entry and then shut the door behind him. “What is it?”

“Here,” he said, holding out what looked like a map. “It’s directions to the herbalist’s house. I can’t go with you until I make arrangements here but if you show her this, she’ll give you safe haven until I can join you.”

Bilbo looked at the map in his hand, flabbergasted. “Is this…are you proposing we run away together?”

“Just as far as Mirkwood,” Galeon laughed. “From there I can secure you safe passage back to the Shire.”

_Mirkwood_. For one, brief, awful moment Bilbo was consumed by suspicion—Thorin was little better than a rabid animal, it turned out, but he hadn’t yet outright lied to her. And she hadn’t forgotten the way Thranduil sacrificed her in his game of power. But with her next breath she remembered this was Galeon, her friend, and she chastised herself. She would not become as suspicious and untrusting as the dwarves. Especially not when Galeon had only ever been gentle with her and Thorin most certainly had not.

With a decisive nod, Bilbo took the map from his hands. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” Galeon said moving back to the door. Then he paused, a furrow creasing his brow, “How are you going to get out of the mountain?”

“I’m the queen now,” Bilbo reminded him. “They don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.” Galeon flashed her a quick grin and slipped out of the room and Bilbo returned to her packing with renewed fervor. Within the hour she was ready, and she left with no intention of ever coming back.


	11. The Shack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only thing graphic in this chapter is the violence but there is also threat of sexual assault.

It was late and the mountain was empty which was her first break. As Bilbo approached the gates the only dwarves she had to navigate were the guards posted to second watch.

“Halt who goes there!” the guard called out.

“Your queen, step aside,” Bilbo said in her most authoritative voice. The guard didn’t even hesitate. She walked out the front gates into the night and followed the path past Dale and down towards the river.

The night was chilly and the cold bit at her nose and cheeks. She inhaled through her nose, her chest swelling with good, clean, fresh air, and her feet crunched the still melting snow on the road. According to Galeon’s map there would be a bend and the road would veer east away from the river. There was a path there, it said, and if she followed it, it would take her right to the house.

The moon traveled the dark sky and Bilbo ate a quick snack while she walked. The map was proving less obvious than she thought it’d be, or she had overestimated her skills as a traveler. Several times she saw what she thought might be bends, but the river and road came back together so quickly she couldn’t imagine those were it. But just as she began to worry she was hopelessly lost, Bilbo saw the river and road curl away from each other and, under the bright light of the full moon, could make out footsteps marking a small path that broke off from the road. Certain that had to be it she left the road and set off.

The cold was beginning to nip at her fingers and toes when Bilbo saw a small shack take shape out of the shadows, and then the faintest wisp of smoke curling from its chimney as she walked up. It looked smaller and more rundown than she imagined, but she knew that despite the riches of Erebor and Mirkwood there were many in their kingdoms who did not share in the luxury. Bilbo walked right up to the door and raised her hand to knock, but then she paused. There was a nagging feeling, a tickling on the back of her neck that said something wasn’t right. The shutters on the windows were dotted with holes where the wood had rotted away and she gingerly peeked in, unsure why she felt so wary. Inside was no herbalist, but a mean looking dwarf, his beard matted, and he was sharpening a sword by the fire. Next to him was a small pile of gold and valuables and Bilbo saw gem-encrusted daggers, jeweled combs and other finery that could only have come from travelers.

Bandits. She had stumbled upon bandits.

Pulse racing, she stepped back from the shack and turned to make a quick escape before she was noticed. She needed to get as far away from here as possible and let someone know—who knew how many travelers had been waylaid or how many more dwarves might be skulking about. Careful to be silent she crept around the corner, but standing there, arms crossed as if waiting for her, were two large dwarves. The shadows turned their faces into demons.

“We got ourselves a hobbit, boys!”

They manhandled her into the shack and threw her to her knees in front of the dwarf she had spied. He was still sharpening his sword, completely unbothered by her sudden appearance.

“Blimey we haven’t had a hobbit round these parts in ages,” one of them said. “Maybe she’d be willing to help a bloke find a spot of warmth in this cold weather.” Bilbo couldn’t stop her flinch at his lascivious look and the unsettling smile of the one standing next to him.

“You’d waste a prize like this?” the one with the sword asked quietly.

The other two shut up, sharing a look of bewilderment.

“Have you not heard?” He raised the sword before him, eying the blade before laying it back down carefully. “We have a new queen—the old bastard finally got married.”

Her eyes went wide, and fear locked up her muscles.

“To a hobbit.”

“I’m—I’m not,” Bilbo tried but he backhanded her and sent her sprawling.

“Tie her up and make sure she can’t get away,” he told the other two. “I think it’s time I sent a message to our old friend Thorin, and when he gets here, then you can take your pleasure. While he watches.”

Bilbo panicked, thoughts racing for something, anything she could do. The first two dwarves picked her up roughly and threw her against the wall. Her head bounced off the grimy wood, and they bound her hands and feet in front of her—she flinched as their hands wandered across her body in the process.

“She’s a juicy one,” said the one who’d first eyed her. “I bet she’s softer than those humans we had last month.”

“You heard Bill,” the second one told him, swatting the first’s hands away as he reached out to fondle her. “She’s not to be harmed.”

“Not to be harmed _yet_ ,” the first corrected him and they shared a laugh that froze her blood in her veins.

How, Bilbo thought, how was she going to get out of this one. She was bound and had no weapon—Galeon knew where she’d gone, but he thought she was at his friend’s house. No one knew bandits had made camp in this forgotten shack, and they would never think to search for her here. She was vulnerable and alone and even if they sent Thorin a ransom note, she held no illusions about him coming to rescue her.

“When the king comes for his love, we’ll have a right surprise ready for him.”

“I’m not his love,” she told them. “You might as well let me go.”

“Do you hear that Bert?” the handsy one said, “we might as well let her go!” They laughed meanly and sat down in front of the fire, holding their dirty hands out before its warmth.

“You better hope he comes to your rescue,” Bert told her, “because if we can’t use you to get at the King Under the Mountain then we’ll just have to find another way to pass the time won’t we. What do you think, Tom, game of dice to see who goes first?”

Bilbo held her tongue after that and stared at the flames, doing her best to block out their horrid threats. They were toying with her, she knew, but they also meant it. Bill left, she guessed to demand the ransom, and Bilbo wondered how long before they realized Thorin wasn’t coming. Hell, Thorin would probably thank Bill for taking care of his hobbit problem when he got the news. But as she sat there, stuck, listening to Bert and Tom get increasingly graphic in their descriptions, she began to hope she was wrong. Bilbo couldn’t imagine how she was going to escape otherwise.

The hours passed torturously slow and she sat shivering in that miserable place as night turned to day. Bill came back around mid-morning and she drifted off shortly but woke to sharp boots kicking her and dirty hands giving her a pinch. As the day wore on Bilbo fought with herself to keep up hope—it took time for Thorin to hear of her fate and it would take more time to prepare before he was ready to rescue her. _If_ he was coming to rescue her.

Bill scared her the most even though Bert and Tom took great pains to kick and slap her every so often. But their threats were predictable; they were dangerous, but Bilbo could see when a hit was coming and brace herself. Bill kept to himself, only seeming to notice her when he checked to make sure her bindings were still tight. The casual malice in his features made her skin crawl and she fought the urge to recoil every time he came close. They dragged her outside to relieve her bladder every so often, but Bert and Tom watched her with leering expressions and Bilbo was thankful when dehydration finally ensured she wouldn’t need to go again. But as the sun began to dip again toward the horizon, she could see the dwarves growing impatient. He wasn’t coming. Thorin wasn’t coming. She had to get out of this, had to find a way to escape.

“He should have been here by now,” Bill said quietly after Bert and Tom grew tired of their latest round of slaps. Blood slowly oozed down her face from a cut on her cheek, her nose, her split lip. “He’s had all day to rush to your rescue.”

She kept her eyes trained on the fire.

“Why wouldn’t a king rush to rescue his queen do you think?” he mused. And then, with a mean smile he asked, “Was yours not a love match?”

“His love is the kingdom,” Bilbo said haughtily. “I would never expect him to endanger others just to save me.”

Bill nodded as if he understood. “A good answer, but not a true one. Maybe you’re worried he won’t come, maybe it’s time the boys and I think about what else we might do with you.”

“Maybe I will sneak away in the dead of night,” she informed him. “And maybe I will stab you all in your sleep before I go.” Bilbo understood that if they knew he wasn’t coming then her fate was sealed. She had to pretend until she could find a way to get free.

“Oh well said, mistress hobbit,” Bill chuckled. “I didn’t know your kind knew how to fight for their own survival.”

Bilbo looked away from him.

“He didn’t save his last love either, you know,” Bill said after a moment. “Abandoned her to the elves he did. Left her to rot like a piece of spoiled fruit. Did you know that little hobbit?”

She stared at him, knowing she couldn’t trust anything he said. But he was talking about Corin—he had to be. The mysterious ghost who haunted her even here as she stared down three vicious dwarves away from the halls of Erebor.

“He claimed he loved her, claimed he would make her his queen.” Bill spat into the flames. “That dwarf has no honor.”

“But she must have done something,” Bilbo said, thinking of Balin’s story. “There must have been a reason Thorin left her to the elves.”

“Thorin you call him?” Bill asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “My, that is a familiar address isn’t it.”

Bilbo swallowed, wondering why she always seemed to be saying the wrong words.

“My girl was going to help him rule the world,” Bill said, a manic energy creeping into his voice. “We had a _dragon_ —we could have conquered Middle Earth! But he was too weak to seize the opportunity she laid out before him and she paid the price for _his_ cowardice.”

He rose and made his way over to Bilbo, squatting down so he could run one grimy finger down her face. Bilbo jerked away and he chuckled, running that finger down, down over her body.

“I’m starting to think _Thorin_ won’t save you either,” Bill taunted. “But that won’t be all bad will it? I think Bert and Tom are hoping for it.”

Bilbo snapped at him with her teeth and Bill’s fist shot out, smacking her head into the rotted wall. Bill wrapped his hand around her neck with a snarl, but then froze as someone pounded on the door.

“I’m here!” Thorin’s voice sounded from the other side and Bilbo nearly passed out in relief. “I have come alone as requested. Show me my wife.”

Bill stomped to the door and yanked it open. Thorin stood on the other side, his dark hair and coat making him some fearsome creature of the night and Bilbo had never been so happy to be wrong. His eyes scanned the room, locking on Bilbo’s and she gave the barest nod, trying to communicate that she was okay.

Bert and Tom were slower to their feet, but they laughed as Bill grabbed the front of Thorin’s coat and yanked him through the door. The three of them surrounded Thorin and Bilbo’s relief gave way to a desire to yell at him for coming alone. Where were Balin and Dwalin? The rest of his personal guard? How could he risk himself like this?

“We didn’t think you were going to come,” Bill told him. “Even your wife there doubted it.” Thorin’s eyes found hers again and there was too much, too many words to be said between them. Then Bill punched Thorin in the gut and they laughed.

“Your wife’s been keeping us company,” Bill said with a lascivious grin. “For a hobbit she has spirit.”

“You will not speak of my wife,” Thorin replied darkly, and Bill hit him again, this time with a punch directly to Thorin’s jaw. Bilbo bit back a cry, wondering how either of them was going to make it out of this. Why had he come alone? He was the stupidest, most stubborn—

Thorin grunted as Bert’s knee drove up into his gut and Bilbo scanned the room searching frantically for anything she could use.

“You’re all very brave when I’m unarmed,” Thorin said, spitting more blood on the dirty floor. “What say we pick up weapons and take this outside where we can settle it.”

“Are you calling us cowards?” Tom demanded.

“I’m surprised that thick brain of yours can understand me,” Thorin replied.

“What,” Tom said, confusion twisting his features.

“He’s making fun of us!” Bert yelled, balling up his fist and punching Thorin again. Bilbo winced at the sound but then she saw it—Bill’s sword forgotten, leaning on the wall by the fire.

“Easy boys,” Bill said and then rammed his elbow into Thorin’s back. “We’ve got all sorts of things to talk about with our old friend Thorin.” A kick to his legs knocked Thorin to his knees. Bill bent over so he could whisper in Thorin’s ear, “I’ve waited a long, long time for my revenge, and I plan to take my time enjoying it.”

Bilbo clenched her teeth as they began beating Thorin in earnest. She was inching her way towards the sword, but her movements were hampered by her bindings and her need to stay unnoticed. The sounds of their attack, mixed in with taunts shouted by Bert and Tom, covered the clang as she knocked it over, and then drug it onto her lap. She froze when the noise suddenly stopped and then shoved the sword behind her to lay lengthwise along the wall. She could only hope they were too preoccupied to notice it in the shadows. Thorin grunted when they hauled him up onto his knees and bound his hands. Then they dragged him by his coat across the room and tossed him into Bilbo.

His face was a bloody mess, and she knew dwarves were sturdy, but Bilbo still felt her heart clench when he groaned, forcing himself up so that he was sitting next to her. He gave her a look full of meaning and Bilbo hoped they both lived long enough to fight over this later.

“So, how’s that rescue going?” Bilbo asked, offering a weak smile and then wincing when her wounds pulled. Thorin huffed a laugh but before he could reply rough hands yanked her to her feet, spinning her around so that she faced Thorin, Bill’s dirty form at her back. He curled one arm around and squeezed her neck in his thick hand. Then he rubbed against her, his movements exaggerated and lewd, and Bilbo squeaked, unable to hide the fear clawing at her.

“You’re going to watch,” Bill said, the menace in his voice palpable, “while we make your new queen scream and beg us to kill her.”

Thorin let out an enraged roar and lunged, but Bert kicked him in the shoulder, knocking him back into the wall. Bilbo tried to capture his eyes with hers and jerked her head to the side. Bert turned from Thorin and stated to approach her, and Bilbo wracked her brain, trying to buy time while she willed Thorin to notice that damn sword.

“Wait!” she yelled, Bert’s hands inches from her shirt. “You don’t want to do that! Trust me, I’m telling you for your own good.”

“How’s that,” Bill asked, his voice hot in her ear.

Bilbo tried to stop her shudder of revulsion and grasped for something, anything to buy time. They knew what a hobbit was, but did they actually know anything about her people? Thorin’s eyes were locked on hers and she looked at the sword then back at him, at the sword and then back at him.

“She’s just playing hard to get,” Tom laughed, taking a step towards her.

“I’ve got worms!” she blurted. Everyone froze.

“What?”

“How’s that?”

“There’s no such thing as worms,” Bill said. Baring her teeth at Thorin, Bilbo gave another slight jerk towards the sword practically sighing in relief when he finally looked and noticed the sharp blade still unnoticed on the floor.

“It’s a hobbit affliction,” she said quickly. “We don’t like to talk about it with outsiders, very embarrassing stuff.”

“You’re making this up,” Bert said.

“I’m not, it’s why I didn’t think he’d come,” she babbled, working hard to keep their attention. “For hobbit women it just makes us infertile—infested womb, some people call it. But they can transfer from women to men and it’s very painful. I don’t recommend it.”

Bert made a disgusted face and took one step back, but Bill was a tougher sell.

“How exactly do these worms transfer,” he demanded suspiciously.

“Well,” she drew the word out, grasping at the most disturbing image she could conjure. “When you’re enjoying yourself, you know really getting down to it, they can, um, crawl out of the infested womb and, uh, into you.” Bert looked like he was going to be sick. “Just right in through the tip. And there’s no cure! At least none we’ve ever found.”

“But what do they do to you?” Tom asked her. He was eyeing her as if she were contagious. Good.

“They keep things from working right,” she said very seriously. “Make it so you can’t,” she gestured as much as she was able with her bound hands, “you know. And it hurts all the time—terrible, terrible pain. There’s nothing for it but to cut off the whole appendage.”

Bert and Tom both winced and even Bill put some space between his body and hers. Bilbo risked a glance at Thorin—he was frantically sawing at his bindings. Just a little more time.

“I didn’t tell him,” she went on conspiratorially. “Before the marriage that is. He was furious that I lied—can’t believe he even responded to your note actually.”

“We can’t risk it Bill,” Tom said, shaking his head. “It’s not worth it.”

“Yeah, what if she’s not lying?” Bert added.

“There’s no such thing, you idiots,” Bill told them with disgust, squeezing her as if to convince himself. “She’s making it up!”

She was making it up and Bilbo wasn’t sure what else she could say to maintain the ruse but then there was a roar and Thorin was up, free of his bindings and charging with the pilfered sword.

Taking advantage of the surprise, she threw herself to the side and broke Bill’s hold on her. She landed hard on her shoulder, but she wasn’t between Thorin’s sword and Bill anymore which was a good thing. Bill pulled a dagger from somewhere and managed to block the first strike, but even after the beating he’d taken, Thorin had the advantage. He was a devil with that sword, his movements fluid and powerful, each hit shoving Bill back, driving him around the room until the malicious dwarf stumbled. It was all the opening he needed and Thorin drove his sword straight into his gut.

Bilbo gasped at the volume of blood that poured from the injury, but there was no time to be horrified because Tom was already there attacking with a cry. He’d found a sword and he was skilled enough to hold Thorin’s attention. Bilbo saw Bert moving around behind, dagger clutched in his hand, and she realized he was angling to stab Thorin in the back. Too preoccupied by the attacks hammering him from the front Thorin showed no awareness of the threat sneaking up from behind. Bilbo squirmed her way over to Bill’s gutted corpse and grabbed the dagger from the pool of spreading blood and furiously sawed at her feet.

Bert raised his dagger, poised to strike while Tom forced Thorin on the defensive with a series of fast thrusts. The ropes around her feet gave way and Bilbo jumped to her feet. She ran straight into Bert, Bill’s dagger clutched in her still-bound hands. He’d forgotten about her; she saw it in his surprised eyes as she drove the dagger deep into his gut, her momentum enough to push him back and he stumbled and tripped, his body flailing as he landed on the fire, Bilbo on top of him.

Bert loosed a horrific scream, his matted hair and beard igniting almost instantly, and she threw herself away from him, her own clothes smoldering. Thorin sliced Tom’s neck so deep his head tipped back, the slash yawning wide like a grotesque mouth and then, before the body hit the ground, he spun and drove his sword straight into Bert’s heart.

There was a tremendous crash and the door to the shack fell in with a boom. Dwalin stood on the other side, an axe in each hand, with more guards behind him ready to rush in. His face fell as he took in the scene, disappointment replacing the maniacal glee.

“Aw,” Dwalin sighed. “We missed it.”


	12. A Short Rest

Bilbo didn’t think she would ever get the stink of Bert’s burning hair out of her nose. Even after they made it outside, the biting cold a welcome relief from that horrible shack, she felt infested with it.

“Are you able to ride?” Dwalin asked as the guards brought a pony over to Thorin.

“I’ll manage,” he answered gruffly. “Let me get seated and then hand her up to me.” A guard she didn’t know walked her over, and Thorin swung into the saddle with a pained grunt, taking a moment to adjust his cloak, his face drawn tight. Then he nodded and Bilbo was lifted and put on the pony in front of him.

A day ago, she would have yelped and taken issue with the way they moved her around like a piece of furniture, but that yesterday seemed very, very long ago. Today Bert’s screams rang in her ears and the events of the shack sat like a weight on her chest. She wasn’t sorry for what she’d done, but she was sorry she had to do it. It all seemed so pointless; everywhere, people were preoccupied with fighting and revenge. They claimed betrayal, threats, even war and yet _they_ made those things real. Thorin couldn’t look weak in front of Thranduil because Thorin and Thranduil refused to live peacefully. These bandits claimed Thorin had wronged them and their kin, but they sealed their fate when they chose to hurt others. By clinging to the past all any of them did was ensure it was repeated in the future.

The party set off and Bilbo looked out at the landscape fighting against the rising tide of emotion swelling inside her. First that horrible scene outside the garden with Thorin and then hours trapped and terrified and now this—riding back to Erebor as if all was normal. As if the last time they’d seen each other he hadn’t been half-crazed by a memory that haunted him more deeply than she could have guessed. She was so thankful he came for her. But she was so surprised he did.

“You showed up alone,” Bilbo said. The words were quiet but there was an anger in them, and she wasn’t sure why she was so mad, but a sudden urge to hit and yell at him filled her. Except, when she looked up and saw the mess of purpling bruises and dried blood on his face that anger fizzled as soon as it appeared. He was hurt because he’d come to rescue her. Because, after everything and in spite of everything, he wouldn’t abandon her to such a fate.

He saw her looking and there was a tenderness in his expression that didn’t make sense, and she struggled to catch her breath, grasping at the shreds of her anger even as different, more confusing emotions swept over and around it. She wanted to fight with him, to retreat behind that familiar rush of rage and defensiveness she’d stoked since their wedding. But he had come for her and now and she wasn’t angry _at_ him, she was scared _for_ him. He’d come alone. He had risked himself and his kingdom…for her.

“You’re coming down from the fight,” Thorin said gently, as if he could see the storm of thoughts and feelings raging inside her. “Your body is reacting.”

Bilbo squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “But I…” her thoughts scattered before she could speak them. Clenching her teeth, she managed to force out, “Why do I feel like I’m going to fly apart?”

“Because what you just went through was awful,” he said, and she thought she heard shame creep into his voice. “You were out there, you were taken by them, because I drove you to it. Because I…failed you.”

She looked up at him in surprise, incapable of understanding his words. Unwilling to believe them.

“I was wrong,” he said roughly. “Today you saved my life even though all I’ve done is accuse you and suspect you, and still…you saved me Burglar. I was wrong.”

“No,” she said vehemently. “You shouldn’t have come alone. You shouldn’t have risked everything for me. You’re a king and I’m a…I’m…” Bilbo trailed off. She didn’t understand why she was arguing with him. He _was_ wrong. These were the words she had demanded from him from that first moment in the throne room. But now that she heard them, she didn’t want them anymore. She wanted…Bilbo rubbed her sternum again, trying to relieve some of that infernal pressure. She didn’t know what she wanted.

“You’re my _wife_ ,” Thorin said and the words startled her. She looked up at him but then away, uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze. “I was alone because I left before the guard was ready. I was worried that we wouldn’t get to you in time. Dwalin had orders to follow as quickly as he could, but you’d already been gone for so long and I didn’t want to…I couldn’t risk…you deserved more from me. On my honor, I won’t fail you again.”

Bilbo rubbed harder as the pressure in her chest increased. She hated how much she loved those words. What was _wrong_ with her?

“Do you remember,” he began and then shifted with a slight wince. “Do you remember when you asked if we could try not being enemies?”

She blew out a breath, the memory coming back to her slowly in bits and pieces. “I think so,” she said.

“If I promise to stop being such a donkey’s ass,” he gave a half-smile, his tone wry, “do you think we could try that again?”

“Well,” Bilbo’s mouth opened and closed with all the grace of a fish. So many misunderstandings still lay between them, and yet here she was, on her way back to the Mountain. She had hope when she asked him that; she thought there might a future they could carve from the tragic events that thrust them together. But every new day only brought another revelation, another reminder that he didn’t want her. Tied to a monster, he had said, with no chance of happiness. That he might have said it more kindly if he’d known she was listening didn’t make it less true.

And, yet, here they were. If there was a future to be had here, Bilbo had to adjust what she hoped might be. He already had a love and its ghost haunted them both, but he had been right about the danger she was in. It seemed news had spread far and wide that the King Under the Mountain had married a hobbit and, as much as she hated to admit it, Bilbo was now terrified to risk the journey back to the Shire by herself. So, perhaps, staying was the right choice even if doing so meant losing any hope she had of love. They could still have friendship; they could still have happiness, but not if both of them remained trapped by the past. She would not live in a prison of her own pride and fear like these kings and dwarves and bandits. She would not participate in summoning her own demons, just so she would have something to fight other than herself. Bilbo scratched her cheek, the dried blood flaking off.

“Thorin,” she finally spoke. “I can’t…I _won’t_ go back if things aren’t going to change. Your past is everywhere. It’s there when we try to talk, when I try to find a space for myself in the mountain, even when I’m trapped with those dwarves. They were talking about her—Corin. That’s the same name you called me the day I left when…when you were…” she trailed off, not sure how to characterize what he was. “If I’m truly your wife, then I have a right to know you. If we aren’t going to be enemies, then we should at least _try_ to be friends.”

He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer, and she felt her disappointment building. Was this all there was even now? One more conversation doomed to failure like so many of their others? But just as she was ready to give up, he spoke in a low tone.

“Yes, she’s…that’s the same person Balin told you about,” he said haltingly. “I know how I acted when I found you with the elf and…you are right. You have a right to understand, and I will tell you but I’d…rather not right now. I would rather wait until we’re alone if…if you’re willing to be alone with me.”

His voice was quiet, and Bilbo saw a vulnerability in him she never guessed was there. He looked at her and, for a moment, the world dropped away until nothing else existed except two souls seeing into one another. His gaze was pained and guilty and she saw a deep and abiding pain in him that twisted her heart. Unexpectedly, she understood why Balin and Dwalin and all the others were so loyal. He wasn’t perfect—far from it, but he also wasn’t cruel, not at his core anyway. She so sure that first night in the throne room she had him figured out. He was the mad king. He was vicious and mean. He delighted in toying with others. And maybe some of that was true sometimes, but not in the ways—and not with the callousness—she had once believed. She wondered if she had ever actually understood what drove him, or if she had only ever taken the bits and pieces he revealed and let her fears fill in the rest.

“I am sorry,” he said, his voice pitched so that it stayed between the two of them. “For everything, but especially for how I’ve acted, especially for not recognizing that because of my cowardice I was…hurting you.”

Raising her hands, she rubbed at her eyes. She was a mess of jittery nerves, exhaustion, latent fear and…she snuck another glance at Thorin. Something sweet and soft unfurled as she looked up at him and Bilbo ripped her gaze away. No, she said to herself, no, no, _no_. She was appropriately thankful he saved her life, and she was tired, and he was being sweet. This vulnerability they shared was, _at most_ , the start of friendship. Gods, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to forgive him yet.

“I know you think my ego is too big,” Thorin said dryly, “but do you have to gasp in abject horror while you look at me?” He hid it with a smile, but she saw the hurt as he misunderstood her reaction.

“Oh no,” she said quickly. “That wasn’t…I wasn’t…” she trailed off. With a frustrated groan she burst. “Why does it always go so wrong when we try to talk to each other?”

“Probably because we’re so bad at it.”

Bilbo snorted, that soft feeling swelling more inside her chest. “Thank you for telling me all that,” she said, willing him to feel her sincerity. “I would like that. To not be enemies.”

His lips twitched. “With words like that who needs poetry?” he teased gently, and Bilbo huffed a soft laugh. But it worked—the tension broke and she was able to take a deep, cleansing breath. Then, after another moment of silence Thorin shifted again and said, “So…worms?”

One side of her mouth tipped up in a small smile. “It was all I could think of,” she shrugged. “I’m not actually that great lying.”

“I thought it was brilliant,” he surprised her by saying. “I’m beginning to understand how you outsmarted a dragon.”

Bilbo looked up in shock.

“You heard me,” he replied with a small chuckle, then he winced again.

“Are you sure me sitting here isn’t hurting you?” she asked worriedly. “I can walk or—”

“Hurting me?” Thorin interrupted her, a strange note in his voice.

“You’re wounded,” she reminded him. “I don’t want to make it worse.”

“So, you’ll walk,” he asked slowly. “While we all ride.”

“Well,” Bilbo floundered, really unsure where he was headed with this. “It’s not my first choice, if I’m being honest, but with your injuries—”

“ _My_ injuries?”

Bilbo gave an exasperated sigh. “Are you just going to repeat everything I say?”

“Burglar,” he said gently. “Look at your feet.”

Confused, she looked down and then gasped. The ropes had rubbed her skin raw leaving welts on her wrists and ankles. A long slice marred one foot, which she must have done when she struggled with the sword. Bilbo hissed, surprised by sudden pain as if looking made her injuries real.

“Still want to walk?”

“Shut up,” she said mulishly. He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like chuckle and Bilbo felt her own smile start to peek out again. Was he…were they…being nice to each other? That stupid, soft feeling grew more intense and she shifted, trying to alleviate this need she had to…smile at him.

“Here,” Thorin said gruffly and before she knew what he was doing he pulled her back against him and into the warmth of his cloak. Bilbo stiffened, but he gave her a gentle squeeze and said, “Hush.”

She gave her best “harumph,” but said no more. The comfort and warmth of his embrace was exactly what she needed even if she didn’t want to admit it. She was safe, and she was warm. As filthy as they were, this felt good. She looked down at her dirty, blood-caked hands, the surrealness of it all swooping around her.

“Do you ever get used to it?” she asked. “The fear and terror of adventures?”

“Some adventures are grand,” he said, his voice rumbling under her cheek. “I owe you more than a few good ones when spring arrives.”

She nodded, and then, a laugh burst out of her, startling them both. “Did we just manage to speak civilly to each other?” she asked him. “Imagine that, three whole sentences without fighting.”

There was a beat, and then Thorin’s face split in a huge grin. His laugh was deep, and it transformed him from something cold and beautiful into someone who was warm and alive. And deep, deep inside her, a metal box wrapped in chains locked tight to protect her wounded heart from the world, rattled.

***

Bilbo was so tired she could barely stay upright when they rode through gates. Oin met them at the stables tsk-tsking when he saw their injuries. He proclaimed he could do nothing until they were clean, which was fine by Bilbo. But by the time she was clean, stitched, and bandaged she didn’t know if she wanted to cry, sleep, or cry while she slept. It wasn’t so much the pain as it was all of it—her fear, her loneliness, her homesickness—finally catching up with her. Oin eased the covers over her, his ministrations so gentle and she couldn’t stop the sniffle as a rogue tear escaped.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a watery voice. “I promise I’m not crying. You’ve taken excellent care of me Master Oin, thank you.”

“You’ve been through an ordeal,” the dwarf soothed her. “I’d be more worried if it hadn’t affected you.”

She drifted in and out while they tended Thorin next. He insisted she be treated first and she was too tired to argue. Despite his beating, he was in better shape than her with mostly bruises, and it wasn’t long before he was shooing away Master Oin.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Thorin said, “stop fussing.”

“You’re my king and you decided to ride off without guards or weapons,” Oin said sternly. “You’ll put up with my fussing.”

“Dwalin was right behind me,” Thorin yawned.

“You’re both to sleep for as long as you’re able,” Oin ordered them, “Be right as rain in a few days’ time.”

Thorin slid into the bed, groaning as he settled back onto the pillow and Bilbo blinked up at him sleepily.

“I thought you were asleep,” he said, noticing her.

“I was.”

“Sorry I woke you.” His eyes drifted shut and Bilbo liked the way his long, dark lashes fanned out against his cheek—she wanted to reach out and trace them with her fingertip.

His eyes still closed he said, “You’re staring at me again.”

She should have felt self-conscious, but exhaustion outweighed everything else. So instead, she yawned and asked, “How do you do that? It’s like you can feel when someone is looking at you.” He didn’t answer and her eyes fluttered close, the soothing darkness welcoming her.

“I can when it’s you,” he whispered.

***

Bilbo woke up shivering to the wind howling around the mountain; a storm had blown in overnight and gray clouds cast a gloom through the windows. She rolled over, wincing at the soreness of her body, and saw Thorin still sleeping next to her. The blankets were pushed down, and they pooled about his waist while the loose shirt he slept in rode up revealing a swath of torso. Bilbo’s gaze was drawn to the warm contours of his body with a curiosity that baffled her. There was a beauty to him that had always seemed at odds with his dwarven features; before she met Thorin, she thought dwarves staid with faces that seemed carved from the stone they loved. It wasn’t that he didn’t share those qualities, but whereas other dwarves often seemed too hairy and severe to her, the dark hair that covered his torso intrigued her and made him seem wild. She wanted to splay her hand across his abdomen and trace the lines of his body to…

Thorin released a tiny snore, the sound soft but enough to snap Bilbo out of the spell. Her face flaming, she called herself five kinds of a fool. How exactly did she think he was going to react if he woke up to her ogling him first thing? He saved her life, and she was grateful, but it wasn’t as if he’d professed his attraction; in fact, Bilbo meanly reminded herself, every time her appearance came up in conversation, he was decidedly less than complimentary.

She was infatuated, she told herself, it was embarrassing but normal. She needed space to get her head on right and a little alone time to work through some urges and that would be that. But the stupid soft feeling was back, squeezing around her heart as she looked at him, so she sat up and threw her covers back. But when she stood, Bilbo couldn’t stop the pained groan as every part of her body yelled at her. She grabbed at the bedpost, her legs so weak and unsteady she could barely stand; she knew her injuries would take time to heal, but she didn’t remember things hurting this much when she fell asleep.

“Sore?” Thorin asked, his voice, low and rough with sleep.

“Did you kick me while I slept?” Bilbo asked, only half-joking.

“Here,” he said, starting to get up.

“No!” she said quickly. “I’m fine, you don’t have to worry about me.” She focused her energy on walking to the bathing chamber like a person who wasn’t going to totter over at any moment, and he gave her a face that said he wasn’t convinced but let her be.

When she came back into the room, still hobbling like a hobbit twice her age, he was up, his own movements stiff but nowhere near as bad as hers. He took his turn and when he came out Bilbo was fighting with her pants, struggling to bend over so that she could pull them on.

“Burglar,” Thorin heaved a beleaguered sigh. “What are you doing?”

“Getting…dressed,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Why,” he asked, moving towards her.

“No!” she said again. She threw her hand up, unable to trust herself if he got too close. She wanted to touch him, to cling to him and let him hold her like he had as they rode back yesterday, and Bilbo couldn’t stand it. She needed to put as much space between the two of them as she could, but she was precariously balanced with one foot tangled in her pants and the other trembling as it held her weight. Her sudden gesture toppled her over and she gave a squeal as she tipped sideways into her favorite reading chair. When the dust settled, Bilbo was pancaked on the ground, Thorin was laughing, and her pants still weren’t on.

"Let me help you,” Thorin walked over and she groaned into the rug. Strong hands lifted her and set her upright in the chair, then Thorin, still chuckling, threw her pants onto a pile of clothes and sat in the opposite chair. He nodded at the window, “There’s a blizzard out there and I am not saving you from freezing to death again.”

“Who said I wanted you to,” she said obstinately.

“There’s nowhere to go, Burglar, and you need rest,” Thorin answered, unperturbed. “If you won’t take care of yourself, then I guess I’ll have to stay here and do it for you.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said in a horrified whisper.

“You’re the one who insists I enjoy torturing you,” he said, settling back comfortably in the chair. “I’d hate to prove you a liar.”

Bilbo tipped her head back and wondered if she could throw herself out the window before he stopped her.

Hours later she was still trapped in that damn room with Thorin, but the appearance of food had mollified her somewhat. It was delicious, as Bilbo had come to expect, and afterwards she settled in with her pipe and a good book. He tried to engage her throughout the day—asked her questions about the Shire, asked her what games she played as a young girl, he even asked her to sing him her favorite song. But Bilbo stuck to short, terse answers or, in the case of the song, an outright “no.” He was wearing her down, though, and he knew it. Now she couldn’t even settle into her book properly because she wanted to demand that he explain himself. She remembered agreeing to not be enemies yesterday, but that didn’t mean he had to be so damn _friendly_.

“What are you reading Burglar,” he asked, pulling his own pipe from his mouth.

She gave him a glare and then went back to her book.

“Would you read it to me?”

With a frustrated sigh Bilbo snapped her book shut. “Why?” she demanded.

He widened his eyes as he drew on his pipe—a look that threw her question back at her.

“No,” she said, at the end of her patience. “No, I will not answer another question until you answer some of mine.”

“And will you ask me those questions,” he asked, “or will you continue to sit there and stew like overboiled meat?”

“Oh,” she said affronted, and vividly fantasized about throwing her book at him. “You don’t get to act high and mighty with me. I’ve been asking you questions since I first came to this blasted mountain and you haven’t given me one, good answer!”

“Ask and I will answer,” he said seriously. “You have my word.”

Well, that took the wind out of her sails.

“So now you’re just going to be a reasonable dwarf,” she said, but it lacked the sting from before.

Thorin took a long breath. “I know things have been…”

“Awful?” she filled in for him. “Scary? Frustrating? Lonely?”

“Yes,” he agreed with a sharp nod. “And I want to fix that.”

She looked at him warily. Bilbo was starting to feel like she was the one being unreasonable, but she had good reason to distrust him and keep him at a distance. He saved her life, but she was out there because he had made things here unbearable. And now he was clearly attempting to make amends, but Bilbo realized she was simply waiting for the next trick, the next accusation of collusion.

“How do I know you won’t start accusing me of arranging my own kidnapping next?” she asked him.

“Because after Dwalin was done beating me up, he made me face a very uncomfortable truth,” Thorin told her.

“Which was?”

“That all of this was my fault, and I was blaming you so I wouldn’t have to face it.”

Bilbo stared at him hard, not trusting a word of it.

“The Arkenstone is the King’s jewel,” he began, staring into the fire. “And it drove my grandfather mad. When the dragon came the stone was lost in the labyrinth with all the other treasure but after I reclaimed Erebor I led an expedition to retrieve it.”

“Balin told me,” she said carefully. “That you faced the dragon.”

“Which time?” he chuckled, but it was a sad sound and Bilbo’s heart twisted. “I was here the day the dragon attacked—I can still hear the screams of my people as Smaug’s fire burned them alive. But yes, I faced him again for the Arkenstone. That stone gave me the power to demand trade from the humans and the elves. Without it we probably wouldn’t have survived the winter. Our stores were empty, and dwarves are builders, as a rule, not growers. But even so I’m not sure it was worth it. Many good dwarves died so that I could put a bauble in my throne but without that bauble…we would have been lost.”

“How did you survive it?” Bilbo wasn’t sure why she wanted to know what his own experience in the labyrinth had been like, but she suddenly _needed_ to. Had Thorin trembled as she had, playing hide and go seek with a creature built from nightmares? Or had it only been one more battle he had to fight?

“I have an enchanted trinket that lets me navigate the labyrinth with ease. A token Saruman left us with when he walked off with what remained of our treasury.” His voice was bitter when he spoke of Saruman, but that bitterness was fleeting, leaving only sadness behind. “One group distracted the dragon while the rest of us searched for the stone.”

Bilbo sat quietly, staring into the fire as she imagined the dwarves searching frantically through piles of treasure while their kin burned. Or the terror they all must have felt when the dragon first darkened their doorstep.

“The magic of that trinket is what Gandalf used to help you find your way through,” Thorin said quietly. “I was furious when I first found you—I thought you were going to pry the stone free and take it for yourself. And after Gandalf asked me to spare you, I thought to just banish you and be done with it. But then you kept arguing with me and that gave Thranduil an opportunity to meddle.”

The bitterness was back when he said Thranduil’s name and this time it was not fleeting—it was rooted deep and dark inside him.

“Burglar,” he said, and Bilbo looked at him, his gaze capturing her own. His blue eyes shone, their sparkling blue captivating her against her will. “The elves have been seeking an excuse to go to war for ages. If I let you go, that bastard would have claimed I was too weak to protect my kingdom and rallied his armies against me—he may even have persuaded the people of Lake-Town. It gave me no pleasure to send you to your death.”

She jerked her gaze from his and looked down at the worn cover of her book; the words made sense, but she wanted to know as if he regretted it. If, given the chance to do it all over again, he would try to find another way. But Bilbo didn’t know how to ask that one yet so, instead, she traced the lettering on the cover with one finger, she asked her other burning question.

“Who is Corin?” Her voice was soft, and his sigh was low and full of pain.

“We were to be married,” Thorin began. “She claimed to love that field. The one where you…where I…anyway she said it reminded her of a favorite meadow from where she grew up. I carved that door to her as a wedding gift. I was so in love I didn’t notice how she second guessed me in court, or the ways she challenged me every time I gave an order. I didn’t want to believe it when Balin told me she was contradicting orders I gave behind my back.” Thorin sat back in his chair and looked at the fire. “I didn’t want to believe a lot of things.”

“You were in love,” Bilbo said, but he only shrugged.

“I’m a king,” he said. “I have to know better. When I trust too easily people die. She told me Balin was conspiring behind my back,” he paused, a soft pained sound escaping him before he swallowed it. “And I believed her. By the time I caught her with… _with an elf_ , Balin and Dwalin were locked up and she had turned half the guards against me. I had to fight my own kin—kill them—until I could reach the dungeons and free all the dwarves who had been loyal. It was a horrible, bloody day.”

“Why would she do that?” Bilbo asked, horrified.

“We found out later she was an agent of Thranduil’s,” Thorin said. “She was supposed to start a civil war to keep the dwarves from rebuilding Erebor. And she nearly succeeded. Instead of facing my mistakes or, well, any of it, I haven’t said that name or allowed it to be said in my presence since that day. It was easier to ignore my failure than to deal with it.”

Bilbo shook her head in amazement. “Only you would have an ex who tried to start a civil war,” she said. She didn’t mean it as a joke, but Thorin gave a rough chuckle anyway. “So when you saw me that day with Galeon…”

“Madness,” he answered in a harsh whisper. “I would never ask you to forgive me, but I’m sorry I didn’t explain this before. Perhaps we could have avoided…so much.”

Bilbo felt that soft feeling, the one she hated, unfurling again and it was stronger this time. It made her want to say she believed him, that she no longer thought of him as a vicious mad king. That she hadn’t for a long time. She wanted to reach out like she had when she woke up; she yearned to stroke his skin and bury her hands in his hair. She wanted to kiss him and find out if his lips were as soft as she remembered, to pull him close so that she could revel in the feeling of his body pressing against hers. To talk and forgive and communicate with their bodies instead of their words.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the onslaught of desire and silently cursed herself.

“Did I upset you again?” Thorin asked and there was real worry in his voice. So much of it that Bilbo shook her head no, not wanting he would think she was sorry he revealed all this.

“No, I—” she licked her lips and swallowed, unsure what words might pour out of her mouth. I believe you? I want you? Then tell me why you think I’m a monster? “I’m glad you told me,” she finally said in a tight whisper. “Thank you.”

“I know I doubted you when I shouldn’t have,” Thorin said. “And I know that has caused you pain. That was never my intention I just…I thought keeping things—keeping _you_ —at a distance was best. I see now how wrong I was.”

Bilbo snorted, unable to stop herself from smiling at him. “Careful,” she grinned. “That was almost an apology.”

“Perish the thought,” he said with a small, sweet smile of his own. She got lost again in his stare—how had she ever thought of his eyes as cold? They were warm and deep, and Bilbo thought she might lose hours simply looking at him.

Giving herself a shake, she looked down and worked to get herself back under control. She needed something, anything to distract her from this growing tenderness inside her. She needed to change the subject until she had time to get over this…whatever it was inside her. Taking a breath Bilbo held her book up and asked, “Do you want me to read you?”

***

She didn’t know how she fell asleep that night. Thorin’s presence in the bed next to her felt like a brand and she lay awake wondering if he felt the same way. Did he secretly want to reach for her—to cross this unbreachable gulf between them and pull her into his arms? No, Bilbo told herself. She knew he didn’t. She thought, maybe, his words wouldn’t be so harsh as before if she asked him, but Bilbo knew he didn’t want her. This, whatever it was she was feeling, was her burden alone.

She woke grouchy and sore, the windows showing her it was _still_ snowing. Oin’s ointments continued to be magical and her cuts were healing remarkably fast, but her muscles still protested every time she moved too fast, and there was a lingering soreness in her bruised and healing face. Bilbo wanted out of this room and away from this antsy feeling that seemed to have crawled right under her skin.

“Oin said there was no reason to stress yourself since it was still snowing,” Thorin informed her as she came out of the bathing chamber and found him starting on breakfast. “I told him I would make sure you rested.”

“I am rested,” she sniped, but the wince as she sat down undercut her. Thorin cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.

Bilbo kept to herself through breakfast and second breakfast, but by lunch she had to admit the boredom was getting to her. “Does spring never come to this wretched place?”

“Balin claims this will be the last snow of the season,” he said from his desk where he was looking over sheafs of official looking parchments.

“Well, then, if Balin says it we know it must be true,” she grumbled.

“You’ve spent enough time with him to know you’re right.”

“Are you done working?” she asked him, bored out of her mind. “I can’t stand to think about this snow a moment longer. I could read more.”

“I can take a break,” he chuckled.

They read through afternoon tea and around dinner as they ate. They began handing the book off between them to take breaks and Bilbo was currently laying perpendicular on the bed, eyes closed and listening. She was so enthralled, his sonorous voice weaving the words into a spell around the room, she didn’t notice the tears that tracked down her face as he read a particularly vivid description that reminded her of the Shire. The homesickness was a powerful longing and the words opened that need to see green and spend her days in the cozy rooms of Bag End.

“Burglar?”

Bilbo opened her eyes, remembering where she was.

“Burglar?” he called again. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said but her voice was watery, and Bilbo swiped at her eyes, irritated by the useless tears. She was here now and here she would stay. Missing home like this was pointless.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you,” he asked quietly. “The Shire.”

She nodded.

“Would you tell me about it?”

Bilbo sat up, wondering if he was teasing her. But when she looked at him, his expression was open and interested, the book laying forgotten on his lap.

“Okay,” she said slowly, “if you really want me to.”

Thorin nodded and set the book aside.

“It was wonderful,” she began simply. “Hobbits…we live comfortable lives. Some of us are greedy and mean but everyone is welcome at The Green Dragon.” She smiled as she thought of nights spent drinking while older hobbits complained that the young people had it too easy. “We aren’t interested in great wars or big goings-on. Our glory comes in harvesting a good crop and enjoying a bit of Old Toby at the end of the day.”

“What was your home like?” he prompted when she trailed off.

“Oh wonderful,” she reminisced. “My parents passed on years ago, but I stayed in Bag End living a quiet, pleasant life. In the summer I used to wander across the fields taking long walks. I’d stare out at the horizon and wonder how far the world went—to try and imagine far off places.” Her smile turned a little sad. “I’ve always enjoyed adventures.”

“You will see it again,” Thorin told her.

Bilbo looked at him, silently begging him to let this be pure and good. She didn’t want to sour this hope with his distrust of her.

“I really just want to see it,” Thorin said, speaking directly to her thoughts. “We’ll plan and we’ll go. This mountain isn’t a prison.”

“It’s our home,” she said in a soft tentative voice and Thorin looked at her intensely. “It’s my home too now…right?”

Such a small question and Bilbo could barely ask it, but if he was serious—if he sincerely wanted to discuss plans for the future, for _their_ future, she had to know. She wouldn’t last like this, stuck between wife and stranger, the Shire and the dwarves, forever out of place. But Thorin didn’t hesitate.

“Right,” he said. “This is your home now and,” he paused and coughed to clear the emotion thickening his words, “I would be honored if some day you would show me your home in the Shire as well.”

Bilbo closed her eyes. This was too much—the hope that she might see the Shire again, that _he_ wanted to see it with her, her heart felt like it might burst in her chest.

“I would like that,” she said. Then, needing to shake off the moment, she jumped from the bed and raced to the desk to rifle through the papers. Finding what she was looking for, she held up the map with a triumphant grin. “Shall we look at the map together and I’ll tell you of Hobbiton and Buckleberry Ferry and the Brandywine?”

***

Bilbo woke, gasping in terror. The nightmare seemed to go on forever—those terrible three dwarves were hunting her while she tried to run from the dragon, tried to get away from that fiery death that chased her relentlessly. And then Bert was in front of her, his charred, smoking, grotesque body reaching, and he grabbed her. She couldn’t break free, couldn’t escape his talon-like hands and then the dragon was there too, and he was drawing in, in, his chest glowing with fire as he opened that horrible maw wide and…

“Burglar?”

She buried her face in her hands and ignored Thorin’s quiet inquiry, too concerned with slowing her racing heart. Bilbo wasn’t used to nightmares; they weren’t something that had plagued her much in her life. But she worried she would get no more sleep tonight—not when the rush of terror was still making her tremble.

“Burglar,” Thorin said again, and she jerked when his warm hand gently touched her back. He paused, but she didn’t tell him to stop. She told herself she didn’t want comfort from him, didn’t want to feel this vulnerable with him. And yet the feel of his palm soothed her and when he began to circle his hand in small soothing strokes, she couldn’t stop her sigh of relief.

“It was just a bad dream,” she finally told him. He gave her a moment, continuing his ministrations while she shook off the last of her fear.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked gently.

Bilbo looked at him, his face crisscrossed with the shadows of night. “I—” she tried, but then stopped herself. She did want to tell him about it, she realized, and that thought scared her. What if he laughed or thought she was being ridiculous? How could he listen to her silly fears when he had seen so much worse?

“Come here,” he said, tugging on her shirt.

Confused, Bilbo let him pull her down, unsure at first of his intentions. But Thorin pulled her close, wrapping his arm around her so that she lay pressed tight against his body. Gingerly, she put her head on his chest, his strong heartbeat a steady rhythm under her cheek.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said, his voice rumbling in his chest. “But I know a bit about nightmares. If you want to talk, I will listen.”

Bilbo took a shaky breath. When had he become so gentle and how was she supposed to keep distance between them when he insisted on being so _nice_? It was late and she was tired, and she didn’t have the strength to fight it as that soft feeling finally spread from her chest throughout her body. It warmed her and she let her arm snake across his chest until she was holding him as tightly as he held her.

She never wanted to let him go.

His hand started rubbing her back again and Bilbo relaxed against him, her breathing evening out as he coaxed the tension from her limbs. He seemed perfectly at ease with her there, half on top of him and Bilbo finally admitted that she did want to tell him about the nightmare. She wanted to share her burden with him and take whatever comfort he could offer. She wanted…she stopped her thoughts, unwilling to follow them to their conclusion. Instead, she took a deep breath, his scent filling her, and began speaking in a soft, hesitant voice.

“It was the dwarves,” she told him. “The ones from the shack. They were chasing me, and I ran and ran but they were always there, always waiting for me as soon as I stopped. And the dragon was there too and at the end I was trapped, and it was going to breathe fire. I could see it, the fire burning through its scales and it opened its mouth and…and then I woke up.”

He continued to soothe her, his body lax and warm next to hers. _I could get used to this_ , Bilbo thought, but that thought upset her almost as much as the nightmare. What was she doing? Did she think this could last? That he wanted to listen while she prattled on?

“It’s silly,” she said abruptly and tried to pull away, but he tightened his hold and gave her a gentle shake.

“It is _not_ silly,” he said, and she closed her eyes at the words, trying to block out how good it felt to hear him say that. He brought his other hand up and smoothed the hair back from her face, fingers thick and calloused by work, featherlight as he tucked the wayward strands behind her ear. “You are not silly. I know I can’t ask for your trust after how I’ve behaved but I’m here now Burglar, and I’m not going anywhere.” Bilbo settled back against him. He was wearing her defenses down—she could feel them crumbling with each gentle moment and kind word.

“That’s good,” she whispered, wondering when his statement had stopped feeling like a threat and morphed into a promise she desperately hoped he would keep. “I’m glad.”

He placed a gentle kiss on her brow and Bilbo let her eyes drift close. When sleep came again there were no nightmares.

She woke rested to the golden rays of the sun warming her face. The storm had passed, and she tilted her head up to the light, letting her joy shine freely on her face.

“What makes you smile like that Burglar?” Thorin asked, voice rough with sleep. They had shifted in the night and she was on her back, Thorin’s heavy arm was thrown across her middle holding her close to him as he slept along her side. The position brought their faces close and Bilbo turned slightly so that her eyes looked into his, her smile growing wider as she let herself bask in this unexpected happiness.

“Spring,” she whispered.

“It will be weeks before the snows melt,” he reminded her.

“But they are melting,” she countered. He huffed and she extracted herself from him even though part of her wanted to stay in his arms until he pushed her away. She liked the way he felt—she liked the way he made her feel. But this was friendship they were building, not romance; they had spent the last couple of days getting to know one another, and even if Bilbo was annoyingly distracted by his eyes and his chest hair and the way she felt when he touched her, that didn’t mean he felt the same. She would not presume his kindness meant anything more than that.

Still, she sang a soft song to herself as she cleaned up and got ready for the day. Her body felt healed if a bit tender, and she thought she would go to Dale today—check in on the people and ensure they didn’t need anything after the long storm. Thorin was right, it would take a fortnight at least for the snows to melt completely, but she could feel the joy of possibility thrumming through her veins. 

“I suppose we can’t hide in this room forever,” Thorin said, beginning his own ablutions.

“Nor would we want to,” Bilbo reminded him. “There’s far too much world out there for us to simply stay here and do nothing.”

“I didn’t plan on doing nothing,” he said under his breath. Bilbo looked up at him sharply and he flashed an easy grin, changing the subject. “Will you sit with me at court today, Burglar? You can keep me company through another morning of endless courtiers lying through their teeth about their loyalty.”

“As tempting as that sounds,” she told him, “I think I’ve kept you company long enough. I’ve things to do.”

“What things?” he asked suspiciously.

“Things you don’t need to know about,” she teased with an affected mysterious tone.

“And if I told you I want to know about the things you do?”

She looked up from her chair, the stray thread she’d been fiddling with forgotten. She was joking, of course—it wasn’t like going to Dale was any great secret, but he looked…sincere. And she couldn’t stop her shy smile; he wanted to know about the things she did. He wanted to know about _her_. But as soon as the tenderness flared inside her, she ran from it, once again using humor to keep things light and force space between what she wanted and what she thought she could have.

“Well maybe I’ll tell you…if you ask nicely,” she replied, her smile turning wicked.

But heat flared in his eyes and Thorin said, “I’ve been known to be persuasive.” Bilbo looked away, outdone by her own joke. She yearned for his intensity and the way her body lit up when he looked at her like that, but she had been a practical hobbit her whole life. It wouldn’t do now to start mooning over a pretty face just because she happened to be married to him.

Sensing her withdrawal Thorin heaved a dramatic sigh and switched back to a light teasing tone. “However will I manage without you?”

“You’ve managed fine without me so far,” she laughed. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to muddle through.”

Thorin shook his head and fixed his mouth in a disappointed frown. “I married such a mean hobbit,” he said.

“I’m not sitting through court today,” she said unapologetically. “But please, do continue to ply me with compliments.”

He laughed and settled his formal robes on his shoulders. “Should I find you later?”

“Only if you promise not to call me mean,” she said.

“Hmm,” he nodded. Then he paused at the door and said, “Be safe,” and was gone.

She jumped up, feeling jittery as her mind began listing all the ways she wanted him to persuade her. Her face flushed as she imagined a few particularly graphic options and a giggle snuck out before she could stop herself.

“No,” Bilbo said sternly to herself, “no. You are not going to set yourself up for disappointment by daydreaming about things that won’t happen. You are a _Baggins_ of Bag End.” _You’re also a Took_ , a mischievous voice said inside her, but Bilbo shook her head, setting her sights—and her heart—on practical things, not flights of fancy. Thus chastised, she set off to begin her day thinking very, very hard about how much she was not thinking about Thorin Oakenshield.


	13. Unexpected Guests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E for Explicit Smut

Bilbo returned from Dale early in the afternoon with some toys for the children in the mountain, a bit of ribbon for Master Dori, and a large satchel of cakes for herself. One roof had collapsed under the weight of the snow, but the townsfolk were already rebuilding, and the bright sun was hard at work melting winter away. That left the paths horrendously muddy and her feet filthy, but she got herself cleaned up, her parcels delivered, and she was now firmly ensconced in her favorite alcove with a good book, a warm fire, and enough cakes to keep her happy until supper. It was, Bilbo thought, a good day.

She had just managed to focus on a gripping history of mithril mining techniques—because she was certainly _not_ dreaming up excuses for finding Thorin—when a huge commotion of noise and bodies poured into the common room.

“Where is she?” somebody thundered. “Where is my new aunt?”

“We’ve come to meet the most famous hobbit in Middle Earth!” a second voice called.

Bilbo sat quite still, gawking, as two young dwarves gallivanted into view, their faces splitting into two wide smiles when they saw her.

“Auntie!” the dark haired one exclaimed and launched himself at her.

“Welcome to the family!’ the blond one followed, crushing her between them.

“Our queen does not need you two hanging all over her,” Balin’s gruff voice sounded from somewhere outside the pile of dwarf.

“Bilbo,” she tried to say.

“What?” someone asked.

“Bilbo!” she shouted. The two dwarves released her, and Bilbo stumbled in their sudden absence.

“She’s short.”

“She’s a hobbit!”

“She’s a short hobbit.”

“Well what’s an average hobbit?”

“I am an above average hobbit,” Bilbo found herself saying, tugging at her clothes and trying to get her bearings.

“You certainly are,” Balin winked.

“Fili, at your service,” the blond dwarf announced himself, sweeping an elegant bow.

“Kili, at your service,” his dark-haired brother followed suit.

“And I am Bilbo Baggins, at yours,” she replied. Their energy was contagious—they seemed young to her, barely older than boys, but Bilbo knew they were likely technically older than she. Their faces, though, were new and open, and their easy familiarity reminded her of home. Fili and Kili jostled and joked with each other then grabbed Balin like they had Bilbo, crushing him between them until the old dwarf gave an affronted yell.

“We want to hear the story from you,” Kili said, leaving a blustering Balin behind to turn back to Bilbo. “The tale of the hobbit who completed the impossible tasks and became Queen under the Mountain!”

“Your story has spread to the Blue Mountains and back,” Fili told her.

“Wonderful,” she said dryly.

“You know we never thought our uncle would marry,” Kili said. “Dwarves only love once, and Uncle already loved—”

“Boys,” Balin interrupted sternly. “Mistress Baggins is not interested in your opinions on love.”

She offered a weak wave to show she wasn’t bothered, but the words stung. She knew Thorin didn’t love her, at least not like _that_ —a few days of friendship and kindness couldn’t change the truth of their past. And yet, Kili’s assertion that Thorin never would, perhaps never could, pulled at Bilbo’s heart. Her Baggins side yelled at her Took side to get it together.

“Are you giving my wife advice on love?” a deep voice asked from behind her. Bilbo spun to find Thorin there, glaring at his nephews. Fili and Kili didn’t hesitate, though, and they charged him, greeting Thorin with the same enthusiasm they showed Balin and Bilbo.

“Okay, okay,” Thorin grumbled, “that’s enough.” But she didn’t miss how his eyes softened or the small smile he couldn’t completely hide. Nobody, it seemed, was immune to their youth and gregariousness.

“Mother sends her regards,” Fili told him. “And to tell you that she will be here before summer and expects a full recounting of how you trapped a hobbit into marrying you.”

That was an awkward time to be drinking her tea and Bilbo choked, earning an irritated look from Thorin.

“She also said she was looking forward to meeting her new nieces and nephews,” Kili said sweetly. “How many children are you hoping for Auntie?”

“Kili!” Thorin snapped. Bilbo began wishing for the mountain to open up and swallow her whole.

“It’s time for supper!” Balin proclaimed and Bilbo could have kissed him. The young dwarves cheered and walked away with Balin saving Bilbo from having to come up with a reply.

“They’re young,” Thorin sighed, as if that was all the explanation needed. “Come on Burglar, it’s going to be a lively meal.”

They filed into the Great Room with masses of other dwarves, and for a while talk turned to other things. Bilbo almost forgot the mess their innocent teasing had made of her insides; unlike a dwarf her age, she was not in her first blush of youth and Bilbo hadn’t thought about the possibility of children overmuch. Thorin never mentioned heirs and, despite his manhandling of her in their early days, they never seriously discussed that kind of intimacy. Hiding her stare behind her cup, Bilbo let her eyes roam across him and thought she rather liked the idea of a little manhandling. Then she was coughing, shocked and embarrassed by her own lust even if no one else had noticed.

“Is the drink too strong for you lass?” Balin asked her.

Bilbo shook her head and flashed them all an easy grin. “Your dwarven spirits are as soft as Dwalin’s heart.”

“You take that back!” Dwalin shouted from somewhere down the table.

Laughter broke out and she settled back as Fili and Kili regaled her with stories of their childhood, and spoke again when they asked her about the Shire and hobbits and gardening. They began to lose interest when Bilbo offered a detailed explanation of the importance of pruning, but Kili got a gleam in his eye and then they began turning every word she said into some kind of sexual innuendo. Bilbo tried to play along, but when they’re attention finally turned away, she sighed in relief. They meant no harm, but what they thought of as gentle teasing was a constant reminder of everything she’d been avoiding for three days.

She snuck another glance at Thorin and thought of that strip of skin she’d seen while he slept. A strange heat swept through her and Bilbo looked away, perplexed. It was like her stupid libido had been hijacked by her stupid dwarven husband and his stupid face. Thorin reached across the table to pick up another piece of bread and Bilbo forgot herself as she stared at his fingers. His hands were strong and calloused, but those fingers could be gentle she knew. What would they feel like as they…

“But uncle you promised!” Kili said, his cry loud enough to draw Bilbo from her thoughts.

“I never promised you explosives,” Thorin said seriously, setting down his bread.

“You did!” Fili argued. “You said, and I quote, ‘you can blow stuff up when you’re older.’ Well, we’re older!”

“Mountain preserve me,” Thorin sighed. He scrubbed one hand across his face looking around for help, and Bilbo stifled a giggle. Watching these two give Thorin the run-around was absolutely amazing.

“Dwalin!” Thorin bellowed. “Dwalin the boys want to blow things up!”

“Well who doesn’t?” Dwalin bellowed back.

“Give them some of the wizard’s fireworks!” someone yelled.

“Send them down to the explosive rock with a torch!” someone else suggested.

“Huzzah!” Fili saluted the room, and a great cheer went up.

“I won’t rest until you have this, will I?” Thorin asked.

“Can’t promise we’ll let you rest after,” Kili shrugged.

“They’re blasting through a wall later this week,” Thorin sighed. “I’m sure the dwarves in charge would let you help.” The table cheered, setting off another round of raucous celebration.

The drinking continued long after the eating ended, but Bilbo wasn’t interested in a loud party tonight; her internal debate was exhausting and she tapped out her pipe and said her goodbyes while the boys were locked in a drinking game that, so far as she could tell, simply subsisted of seeing who could drink the most before the other one passed out. With a heavy sigh, she left the crowded heat of the Great Room.

This was a phase, Bilbo told herself; she was going through a phase. The last few months had been the most dramatic of her life and her kidnapping and then Thorin’s apology, and him _finally_ explaining things…of course all of that would spark confusing feelings. She was attracted to him; she could admit that. But then she stopped and put her hand on the wall, her head drooping as the truth she’d been running from for days slammed into her. It didn’t bother her that she was attracted to him. It bothered her that he wasn’t attracted to her. She was dealing with unrequited love, but it was magnified by the complication of loving her _husband_ who definitely did not love her back. At least not like that.

“Fuck,” she sighed, the pieces clicking into place.

“Burglar!” She turned and saw Thorin approaching, and Bilbo sighed, turning the mess inside her into irritation because, if she didn’t, she might say something stupid like, “I like you,” or “I want to kiss you,” or “please ravish me until I beg for mercy.”

“What,” she groused. Thorin cocked an eyebrow at her tone.

“Should I not walk with you back to our rooms?”

No, Bilbo wanted to say, but that was unfair and she knew it. Still, there was only so much graciousness she could manage at the moment. She grunted noncommittally and went on her way.

“My nephews are excited to be back,” Thorin said conversationally. “It’s been many years since their mother brought them for a visit.”

“They’re sweet,” Bilbo said and that, at least, she could be sincere about.

“They’re something,” he agreed. Bilbo couldn’t stop the small laugh his exasperated tone drew from her.

“I like them,” she said, “even if they’re idea of fun is playing with fire near the explosive rock.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Thorin groaned, then shot her a small smile. “But I think it’s safe to say they like you too.”

“At least someone does,” she grumbled under her breath. Thorin gave her a sharp look, but Bilbo ignored it and pushed through the door to their rooms. She went straight to the bathing chamber, desperate to calm down. Thorin’s presence felt like a brand when he stood next to her, making her achingly aware of where she stood, how she was holding herself, how her breathing kept trying to turn ragged when he smiled at her. And yet, when she finally came back to the bedroom, he was sitting on the bed waiting for her, the intensity of his gaze shattering whatever brief control she’d managed.

“Did I do something to upset you?” he asked.

“No,” Bilbo said awkwardly, studiously avoiding his gaze.

“Burglar,” he said in a low voice.

“You didn’t!” she snapped. Bilbo closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hearing how ridiculous she sounded. “You didn’t,” she said again more calmly. “I’m just tired.”

Thorin grunted, clearly not buying it. “Was it my nephews?” he asked. Bilbo walked to the bookshelf where she could pretend to look at titles while she worked out an answer. Grabbing a thick volume off the shelf she pretended to examine it even though her eyes weren’t seeing any of the words.

“They didn’t upset me,” she told him. “I just wasn’t ready for all their questions.” She heard him rise and move towards her and Bilbo opened the book while her nerves spiked at his approach.

“They didn’t upset you,” Thorin repeated. Then reaching around her, so close she could feel his presence at her back, he grabbed her book and flipped it around. “So why are you reading this book upside down?”

Bilbo slammed the book shut and paced away, wondering if perhaps all of this was some new torture he had devised. “Maybe,” she started, brain scrambling for the words. “Maybe you could just, um, explain to them that questions about our, uh, marriage are awkward. Perhaps.”

“I can,” he said slowly, “if those questions upset you. But you know they are only teasing.”

“I do know!” she said exasperated. “But it’s…it’s _embarrassing_. They ask because they think we’re really married, and I don’t want to pretend with them. I don’t want to pretend with anyone.” If Bilbo didn’t know better, she would have sworn Thorin looked hurt.

“But we are really married,” he said quietly.

“Yes, but not really really married,” she countered.

“Bilbo you are Queen Under the Mountain,” he said and now it was his turn to sound exasperated. “How much more married can we get?”

“But am I though?” she demanded, beginning to pace. “Because sometimes it feels like I’m a…a pet and then they ask about kids and it’s just,” she stopped and spun to face him. “If you would just explain to them that you aren’t attracted to me then they would know not to tease about that.” Thorin’s expression was so confused she would have laughed if she weren’t feeling so mortified. But this had to come out. She knew that look and he wasn’t going to let it go until she made him.

“Who said I’m not attracted to you?”

“Oh please,” she huffed. “You did, _multiple_ times. I don’t need your pity Thorin I just need some boundaries.”

Thorin’s expression turned stormy. “I think I would remember if I wasn’t attracted to you,” he said, and Bilbo wanted to pick up that book again just so she could throw it at him. Instead, she began pacing again, infinitely frustrated he arguing with her about this. Words started to pour out in rapid succession.

“Don’t pretend like you’re surprised,” she said. “It feels like you’re playing with me. We both know you never wanted to marry me, but I’ve accepted it. And I’ve accepted that I…that you…that I’m not to your taste. But then you act like this? When we both know you think I’m a _monster_? That you can’t even imagine happiness with me? I meant what I said about not being enemies and you’ve been so…so nice these past few days and maybe we can find some kind of middle ground but to pretend we’re just a normal married couple who flirts and laughs can’t keep their hands off each other…it’s too much. You can’t ask that of me. It’s…it’s humiliating.”

The words ran out and she stopped pacing, pressing her palms against her eyes not sure if she wanted to scream or cry or run away. Maybe all three.

“We hobbits aren’t meant for this kind of drama!” she burst, dropping her hands. He approached her cautiously, and Bilbo shook her head, desperate for him to just _tell_ her and be done with it. Then she could stop wanting him and…

“ _No_ ,” she spoke to herself, but he froze, two steps from her. He held up his hands in a gesture of peace.

“Burglar,” he said softly, his tone gentled as if speaking to a wild animal. “What do you mean you’re not to my taste? I’ve never thought you were a monster.”

“Don’t you dare look confused Thorin Oakenshield,” she told him. “I heard you that night, talking to Balin. ‘Tied forever to a monster with no chance of happiness’ you said! I know you didn’t mean for me to hear it but that’s what you said.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off. She was done pretending.

“And the day I won the third task,” she said. “You said marriage to me was disgusting but there was nothing else we could do. And I know dwarves and hobbits aren’t a usual match—you can’t expect someone to be attracted to you just because you end up forced into marriage with them but to say it so bluntly? To never even give me a chance?”

“ _I_ am the monster,” Thorin whispered earnestly. “I tied you to me and I ruined your happiness.”

Bilbo cocked her head like a bird. “What?”

“You misunderstood that night,” he said taking another tentative step towards her. “What you overheard between Balin and I—you misunderstood.”

“No,” she shook her head. “I didn’t. I heard you—”

“Bilbo,” he said and the sound of her name on his lips paralyzed her. He took one last step, slowly moving into her space. “I have wanted you since the day you took my copper penny in the treasury.”

“You…have wanted me,” she repeated none of his words making sense. And then she was shaking her head again, “No, you said—”

He stopped her denial by gently cupping her face. And then, his words rough with emotion, he pleaded, “Will you stop telling me what I said and listen to what I’m saying?”

“I can’t,” she whispered, her heart in her throat, too terrified to believe.

“I won’t ask for your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it,” he said. She tried to look away, but he pulled her back, refusing to let her hide. “But I am sorry. And for too long I let my fear of what happened drive me. I thought I could move on, that past didn’t need to be spoken or shared but all I did was trap myself in it. And that hurt us both.”

One stupid, traitorous tear leaked out of her eye and Thorin wiped it away with his thumb.

“I knew how awful this marriage was for you and I was trying to apologize. That’s why I said it was disgusting—disgusting that you had to marry the mad dwarf king. Disgusting that I tied you to me when I was a monster.”

Bilbo winced. His words were like daggers, slicing through all the barriers she had erected to keep him away, to convince herself she didn’t like him. To convince herself this feeling growing inside her couldn’t possibly be love.

“And that day when I saw you with the elf I…I lost myself,” he shrugged. “I saw you with him and followed because I was jealous. But I couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ admit that because I wanted to believe I couldn’t trust you. I wanted you to hate me so that I could go on hating myself and after you left…when I received the ransom note I…I’ve never felt more ashamed. I had driven you into danger because I was terrified of how you make me feel.”

His words were a fervent whisper, and she blinked up at him, hating him for explaining himself. Hating him for saying he was sorry. Hating him because she couldn’t hate him no matter how hard she tried.

“You are the most infuriating, stubborn, unreasonable hobbit I have ever met,” he told her. “And you are also the bravest and kindest. You have never been disgusting to me or a monster. All I see when I look at you is someone more worthy, more beautiful, than I have ever deserved, and so help me Bilbo Baggins, I want you so badly I can barely sleep at night. The only thing keeping me from claiming you in that bed is not knowing if you want me to.”

Well, that did it.

“Confound it you bastard,” she said to him. Thorin had just enough time to look hurt and confused and then she was yanking his head down to hers and fitting her lips to his.

His surprise evaporated instantaneously and then his arms circled her, pulling her tight against him while he deepened the kiss. She opened for him and his tongue slipped into her mouth drawing a groan; Bilbo couldn’t breathe for the desire that overwhelmed her. Thorin reached down and lifted her by the back of her thighs, and she split her legs around him, clutching at him as he walked to the bed. He followed her down and they both moaned as his weight settled against her, the feeling so right Bilbo wondered why she fought it for so long.

His hands delved into her hair, holding her beneath him and his hips flexed so that he rubbed against her and she felt him growing hard. She arched up, increasing the friction and he groaned into her mouth. Then he broke the kiss and looked down at her, his fingers following the path of his eyes as he traced her brow, the shape of an eyelid, her lips.

“You will be the death of me,” he growled. Bilbo moaned again as he moved against her, whatever she might have said lost to the sensation of growing pleasure.

He kissed her jaw then left a trail of kisses down her neck. She tilted her head back to give him more access, letting out a frustrated grunt when he reached her shirt. She pushed him off until she could sit up and grab the hem, pulling the shirt over her head. Then she pawed at his and he grabbed a handful of material at the back of his neck and ripped it off, throwing it somewhere to the side. She gasped as she finally drank in her fill of his body; her hands splayed across his powerful chest and she curled her fingers so that her nails gently scratched him as she slid her hands down, down, down. The sound he made brought a wicked smile to her face, but then he grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands away, pinning them on the bed.

“You are not a hobbit you’re a witch,” he told her and, releasing one wrist, he palmed her breast giving her a wicked grin of his own when she gasped his name.

“Thorin!” she cried as he plucked at her nipple, teasing and twisting gently. She didn’t know if his name was a plea or a curse, but when he replaced his fingers with his mouth, she knew she never wanted him to stop.

His teeth worried her delicate skin and Bilbo couldn’t stop her panting breaths or the way she began to rub shamelessly against him. He moved to the other breast and he slid his hand down, tracing the band of her trousers but refusing to delve deeper. Refusing to go where she desperately needed him.

“Please,” she said in a broken whisper. “Please.”

“Oh no, my beautiful burglar,” he breathed against her skin. “I’ve waited too long to rush this no matter how much you beg.”

“Not…begging,” she panted, “stupid…dwarf.”

With a chuckle he kissed his way down from her breast, showering her soft, generous stomach in kisses and then, finally, he worked loose the band at her waist. She raised her hips eagerly and he slid her trousers and small clothes off together but when he settled back between her thighs, he traced his fingers up one thigh over her stomach and down the other leg. Then he kissed her hip, and then her inner thigh, and then…he stopped.

“Wha…what?” Bilbo asked, trying to sit up.

His large hand splayed across her ribcage, pushing her back down and he said, “Patience.”

“But what are you— _ooohh_ ,” she finished on a long low moan. He slid one finger between her folds, finding the bundle of nerves as he went and then dipping inside her, breaching her in a long, languid stroke.

“I’m looking,” he said, sounding totally nonchalant as he continued to explore her in long, slow strokes. “I’ve never been with a hobbit before.”

“Are we— _gah_ —that different?” she pushed out.

“Let’s see.” Bringing his other hand down he spread her lips, exposing her totally. He sealed his lips over her clit and sucked.

Bilbo was sure she’d never made that noise before.

“Not so different,” he said with a self-satisfied smile. She was just about to yell at him when he put his mouth back and began to work her in earnest.

His beard scratched her skin, the conflicting mix of sensations making her clutch at the sheets, her back bowing up off the bed as she tried to keep herself from bucking wildly. He licked and suckled, even nipping her once, and Bilbo gave up any pretense of control. She had never felt something this intense. This was a mind-numbing passion that drove everything else away and left her mewling and, yes, begging for more.

He added a second finger, and the stretch was delicious. His fingers were bigger than she was used to, but before her brain could finish that thought he increased his pace, rubbing her in tandem with his licks until she had tears streaming from her eyes and she was crying his name over and over again. She wound tighter and tighter, her eyes squeezing shut against the onslaught of sensation even as she demanded more. Thorin added a third finger and Bilbo cried out at the burn, her hips driving her down onto his hand. Lights began to burst behind her eyelids, and she lost language as he drove her over the edge and her whole world exploded.

She gasped in ecstasy lost to everything but the feel of her body spasming as waves of pleasure rolled through her. He drew it out until she was jerking her hips back, too sensitive, and her hands weakly pushed him away.

He withdrew from her and Bilbo lay on the bed, blinking up at the ceiling wondering what the hell had just happened. When he returned, she felt him hard and hot against her and she wanted to make him scream just as she had, but her heart was still pounding and her limbs wouldn’t seem to move. He smiled down at her, smoothing her hair back from her sweaty brow and when he leaned down to kiss her tenderly, she tasted herself on his lips.

Bilbo roused herself and broke the kiss. She looked down their bodies, eyes widening when she saw him. Gingerly, she reached down and wrapped her hand around him not quite able to completely encircle his girth. He was bigger than a hobbit and she explored him carefully, looking for other changes. Her thumb swiped across the tip, spreading his arousal and he groaned, pulling her hand away from him and pinning her back down to the bed.

“You would make me embarrass myself like some young buck with his first lover,” he hissed.

“Not so different,” she smiled up at him.

He kissed her hungrily and then reached down, positioning himself at her entrance. He gave a questioning look and she nodded, then threw her head back at the pleasure-pain as he pushed gently and stretched her body wide.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a tight voice.

She nodded and he pushed more rocking into her in shallow strokes that made her cry out for more. She eased as her body accepted him and then lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist and pulling him in deeper. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, his body shaking with tension, and then they were both moaning as he filled her completely, Bilbo’s hands raking his back to pull him closer. To give her more.

He pulled his hips back and slammed forward, making her cry out. Then again. And again.

“More,” she panted in his ear. “Harder.”

With a guttural noise he sat back on his knees, his hands gripping her waist so that only her shoulders were still touching the bed and began to pound into her.

Bilbo put her hands up, bracing herself on the frame as his body dominated hers. Her thighs clutched him, holding her to him as he rammed into her over and over again. A different sort of sensation started building inside her, like the first but deeper, more terrifying. She couldn’t think, couldn’t talk, could only feel. Sweat coated them both and she was writhing now, so close to the brink but not quite able to make it over. She needed something else, something…Thorin let go with one hand and began to rub her clit in time with his thrusts. It only took a heartbeat and then she was exploding once again as a pleasure so intense rippled through her it whited out her vision. Thorin rode out the waves of her pleasure and then his hips stuttered, and he roared, jerking against her body as his own pleasure found him. She felt him pulsing inside her and she never wanted to stop, never wanted this feeling to end. They were one, their bodies joined, locked in a passion so complete it felt like her soul was entwining with his.

He slipped out of her, falling onto his side next to her on the bed and Bilbo could only lay there, eyes closed, hands still braced above her, as the aftershocks shook her. He threw one arm across her, tugging her up onto her side so that she was half-sprawled across him and they both drifted for a moment on the waves of their ecstasy.

“Different,” he said in a sleepy, exhausted voice. “Better.” For once, Bilbo had to agree.

She let her hand drift across his bare chest, reveling in the feel of his skin under her fingertips and this newfound delight in being allowed to touch him. She wanted to learn his body as thoroughly as she knew her own; she wanted to taste him and tease him until she learned every needy sound he could make.

“Thorin,” she said, and he grunted in response, eyes closed. “Let’s definitely do this some more.” His sleepy smile made her heart thud in her chest and Bilbo let her head rest on his chest, surrounded by his warmth and his scent. A hobbit could get used to this.


	14. To Build A Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uuhh...smut, some plot, more smut. cause i'm classy.

Bilbo woke to knocking, grumbling when Thorin disentangled himself and got up. She watched through sleepy eyes while he found a pair of pants, not bothering with a shirt, before opening the door, and admired the way his muscled back dipped out in his delectable backside. They spoke in low voices, too soft for her to hear, but she smiled, thinking about how good all that strength made her feel. Then she shifted on the bed and winced; it also made her sore, but that soreness was a price Bilbo would happily pay.

She was no stranger to good sex—hobbits were a generous people after all—but she’d never known she was missing sex _this_ good. What she’d done with Thorin had an intensity to it that pulled her out of her own head and heightened her senses until she literally couldn’t speak. A small part of her was terrified by what he made her feel; she wanted to cling to him in this room and spend the days lost in each others’ bodies, and Bilbo couldn’t remember ever wanting someone like this before. But along with her fear was hope too. They couldn’t change the past, but neither of them wanted to make the same mistakes in the future, and that knowledge lit her up from the inside with happiness. This was her home now. She was wanted.

Thorin nodded and shut the door and, for once, she didn’t hide her emotions as she watched him. Instead, she let herself feast on the curves of his pecs and remember all the places she still wanted to kiss and lick. She owed him for how he’d made her beg, and Bilbo had always been one to pay her debts.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we’re never leaving this bed,” he said.

“Promise?” she asked with a wicked smile.

“Burglar if I didn’t have a kingdom to run, I promise I’d make you scream my name until the whole mountain heard.” She shivered as his words sent a frisson of heat through her and tipped her head up to him when he leaned down and kissed her.

In a voice heavy with desire she said, “If you stay, it’s my turn to make you scream.”

His eyes flashed and he kissed her again, lingering this time at her lips before breaking away with longing on his face. “I was not wrong about you being a temptress.”

Bilbo snorted. “That you find me tempting is not the same thing as me being a temptress,” she laughed. Then, with a dramatic sigh, she said, “but I suppose you do have a kingdom to run and I shouldn’t distract you with my hobbity-wiles.” He stopped his search for clothes and sat down next to her. Bilbo gave him a questioning look, unsure why he was suddenly so serious.

“Yesterday you said we’re not really married,” he said, reaching out and gently smoothing her hair. “But this is your kingdom too. If something happens to me, the dwarves will look to you until Fili is crowned.”

Bilbo sat up, frowning at him. “First of all, nothing is going to happen to you,” she replied. “And secondly, why would anyone look to me when Fili is right here? Or Balin? We are married but I’m…I’m…”

“You’re not a pet,” he interjected grouchily. “And please never imply I think of you that way again.”

Bilbo rolled her eyes at him. “But I’m not a queen either,” she said.

“Only because you don’t want to be,” he said. Shaking his head, he went back to getting ready. “I swear sometimes it’s like you live in a world completely your own.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bilbo was finding it difficult to appear appropriately affronted while sitting there naked, clutching a sheet to her breasts.

“It means the only reason you haven’t sat with me at court every day is because you didn’t want to,” Thorin told her, pulling a shirt on. “I didn’t press the issue because it seemed like you had enough to worry about, but I’m not sure how many different ways I can find to say this marriage is real and so is your position in this kingdom.”

“I mean I could think of a few different ways,” she said suggestively.

He leveled an unamused look at her. “I’m serious Burglar.”

Bilbo rolled her eyes. “You’re always serious when it comes to this,” she sighed. “What would I even do? I’m a hobbit not a warrior queen.”

“Serve as a councilor, yell at me when you think I’m making a mistake, convince me to show mercy to the next poor fool who tries to touch the Arkenstone instead of throwing them in the labyrinth,” he finished with a wry grin.

“Hmph,” Bilbo sniffed, “you owe me at least four more orgasms before we’re ready to joke about that.”

“Only four? Then we’ll be joking by midday,” he bragged.

Bilbo made a rude noise and Thorin laughed. Then, with a sober tone he shared what he had been told.

“That was news about the dwarves who kidnapped you,” he said. “We think we have a lead on who hired them, and you deserve to be involved in these conversations if you wish to be.”

“The dwarves who kidnapped me?” she asked, scooting to the edge of the bed. “Someone _hired_ them to do that?”

“Did it not seem awfully coincidental to you that three dwarves from my past just happened to set up right next to my kingdom soon after news of our wedding spread?” Thorin said, sitting back down next to her to put on his boots. “I still don’t know if their orders were to kill us both or only you and they took advantage of the situation to get revenge on me.”

Bilbo’s blood turned to ice in her veins. “But that means…”

“That we’re incredibly lucky Bill wanted to hurt me enough not to murder you straight off,” Thorin said in a tight voice.

“No,” she shook her head. “I mean yes, that too, but if they were hired then…then I’m being hunted.” After he stomped his boot into place, Thorin released a long breath and turned and took her hand in his.

“I thought marrying you would keep you safe,” he said softly, “and I still believe that’s true, but it seems you’re a target anyway. We will find who is responsible and we will stop this plot, whatever it is. When you want it, you have a seat at that table both as the queen and as the person most at risk.”

Bilbo chewed on her lip as she thought over his words. She wasn’t sure why this news felt so surprising. All of three of them had been incredibly explicit in their intentions, but there was something so much more terrifying about it being premeditated. Simple bad luck Bilbo understood. This wasn’t the Shire and risk of wandering at night was one she could understand and respect. But that they had somehow been waiting for her? She had a horrible thought and immediately shook it away. There was no way Galeon knew they were out there. Bill made it clear he wanted to hurt Thorin, but neither he nor the other two said anything about being hired by Thranduil and they’d all been very chatty. If they set up there with the intent of finding her, then Bilbo made it easy for them with her own inability to read a map not because one of the few people who had shown her consistent kindness was part of some elaborate plot.

“I worry when you’re thinking that hard,” Thorin said, interrupting her thoughts. Bilbo swatted him and started looking for her own clothes.

“I suppose I better get dressed too,” she said. “Explaining to everyone why Thorin Oakenshield is wrong is a lot easier if a person is dressed.” He flashed a quick smile and gave her a brief kiss, then left with promises to meet her there.

The door shut behind him and Bilbo smiled, but she couldn’t seem to shake the surrealness of it all. He was making it clear she had a place in his life, but she was struggling to accept any of it as reality. Because if she did, then they were really married and that made her really a queen. Bilbo tipped her head back and tried to calm the war between fear and hope that was raging inside her. She had a place here. She was married to Thorin. She was not alone. And maybe, if she wasn’t careful, she might fall in love with him.

She absolutely was _not_ ready to face that possibility before second breakfast.

Tearing her mind away from her confused, conflicted heart Bilbo focused on what she knew and what she could do. Someone was trying to hurt Thorin and, therefore, hurt the kingdom, by hurting her. They had a lead and that meant they could form a plan. Maybe she wasn’t a warrior queen or a great general, but she was clever and it was her life on the line. She could offer Thorin a perspective the other dwarves lacked, and she was one of the few who would tell him if he was wrong. There was value in that if Bilbo was willing to take her place here.

“It’s time to be brave Bilbo Baggins,” she told herself, setting her shoulders and marching off to the join the King’s council. She may only be a short hobbit, but dammit she could be a fierce one.

***

“We’ve traced the deal back to Lake-Town,” Balin said, “but there’s no direct connection to the Master yet.”

“I bet if an army of dwarves show up on his doorstep he’ll start talking,” Kili said.

“Easy,” Thorin told his nephew. “Balin, Dwalin, suggestions?”

“I’m with Kili,” Dwalin said.

Balin looked at Dwalin and heaved a sigh that contained multitudes. “We’ll need someone who can get close to the Master if we want any hope of seeing how far this thing goes. But if he truly is a part of some plot, he won’t let his guard down with any of us.”

“What if you send me in?” Bilbo asked, and every set of eyes in the room turned to her. Thorin’s brows drew down and Bilbo tried to head off his arguments. “Just think about it—”

“No,” Thorin interrupted. “We’re not sending you directly to the people who already tried to kill you once.”

“I can’t be here and help if I’m unwilling to take the same risks everyone else is,” Bilbo said.

“We can make it a state visit,” Fili suggested. “You said the contracts with Lake-Town needed to be renegotiated. Instead of sending me, let’s all go. Bilbo won’t be alone, but her presence is still likely to force a response.”

“I said _no_.” Thorin didn’t quite snap at Fili, but his words had enough force the younger dwarf stepped back. Bilbo ground her teeth wanting to call Thorin twelve kinds of stubborn, but trying to be mindful of their audience. A month ago, she would have thought this was because he didn’t believe in her, or that he was just being autocratic, and she knew better now which helped. And yet, as much as she appreciated his concern for her safety, she wasn’t about to let him hide her away.

“Using me as bait risks the fewest lives and is the most efficient solution,” she insisted. “If the goal is to kill me or use me to get to you, having me right there will almost certainly draw them out. Once they make their move—”

“This conversation is over Burglar.” His voice was hard and cold, brooking no more arguments. Thorin turned back to the table, clearly considering the matter settled, and Bilbo looked around the room, frustrated by their refusal to meet her eyes.

“So that’s just it?” She wasn’t speaking to Thorin now, but to Balin, then Dwalin. “He says no and that ends the discussion?”

“He’s the king,” Dwalin said gruffly.

“And I’m the queen!” Bilbo snapped. The room got very quiet then, and it occurred to Bilbo that may not have been the best way to assert her newfound authority. Thorin turned to her.

“If you go to Lake-Town you’re vulnerable to attack, to poison, to kidnapping,” he listed. “Even with preparation and training, which you don’t have, you would need to be careful of every word both heard and spoken.”

“I’ve been kidnapped, and I’ve been attacked,” she immediately retorted. “Suddenly pretending we can’t possibly risk my safety when this plan puts the fewest dwarves in danger is the worst kind of hypocrisy.”

“The hobbit has a point,” Dwalin muttered.

“She doesn’t have to go alone,” Balin pointed out.

“I will not risk my wife!” Thorin thundered, slamming his fist down on the table.

“Maybe we should…” Kili gestured towards the door.

“Yeah, we can discuss this more later,” Fili finished, shoving his brother out of the room in front of him. Dwalin gave an annoyed grunt and Balin raised his eyebrows at her as if to say, “good luck.” Then the door shut behind them, and she and Thorin were alone. Bilbo took a deep breath, exerting every ounce of her patience.

“You’re not risking me,” she said. “I’m risking me. And if it helps us put an end to this conspiracy or whatever it is, better to risk myself in a situation we’ve planned for than worry about getting snatched off the streets of Dale or kidnapped while I’m out for a walk.”

“Then you’ll just never leave Erebor,” he muttered, looking away from her.

“Thorin,” she chastised him.

“Do not use that tone with me Burglar,” he growled, pacing the length of the room. “I am not some overprotective nursemaid to be managed.”

“No, you’re a child who’s afraid his new toy will be scuffed,” she grumbled.

“What did you say?” He stomped back in her direction and Bilbo backpedaled, the table behind her stopping her escape but as Thorin loomed over her, she realized it wasn’t anger in his stormy gaze but fear.

Her temper lessened and she reached up to cup his cheek. “Thorin,” she began, her eyes locked on his, begging him to see reason. “You of all people know lives must sometimes be risked. If someone wants to kill me this badly, they aren’t going to stop after one attempt.”

“Do you know what it would do to me if you were hurt?” he said, and the intensity of his gaze made her breath quicken and her heart stutter.

“You asked me to take my place here,” she pleaded. “I can’t do that if you treat me like some fragile doll that has to be protected.” He stared at her another moment and then with a growl his mouth crashed against hers and he was devouring her.

Bilbo lost herself for a moment, teetering between the table and his body as he overwhelmed her, but then he was bending her back so that he could feast on her body. She balanced precariously on the edge, her toes just touching the ground and she clung to him.

“Thorin,” she gasped as his hands delved under her shirt, finding and pinching her nipples. “Thorin, stop, what if someone comes in.” With a curse he released her and stepped back; he grabbed a chair and shoved it under the doorknob, angling it so that anyone who tried to enter would find the door blocked.

“There,” he said roughly. He was back on her in two steps and he flipped her around so that her back was to him and he could wrap his arms around her, one going back up under her shirt while the other slipped into her pants.

Bilbo bit back a scream as his fingers found her clit, as aroused by his aggressive need for her as by the way he manipulated her body. Her legs started shaking and she tipped forward, bracing her hands on the table for support.

“You are my wife,” he growled in her ear and his fingers plunged into her, pushing back and forth until her hips undulated against him, fucking his hand. “And you want me to risk your life?”

“No, I,” Bilbo gasped, not sure what she was trying to say. She was so close, her need burning and intensifying until all of her focus narrowed to how he was making her feel. He tugged roughly at her nipple and Bilbo cried out.

“Answer me,” he demanded, and his teeth nipped at her ear.

“Thorin,” she panted, “I…please…”

Suddenly he let her go and Bilbo rocked forward, loosing a cry at the emptiness where his fingers had been. He ripped her pants down and pressed on her until she dropped to her forearms, ass exposed and presented to him in the air. She lifted one foot at his silent order, letting him free it and then gasped again when he kicked her legs farther apart. Bilbo took a breath, to say what she didn’t know, but then he was there, hot and hard, and all she could do was cry out as he filled her in one thrust.

Giving her no time to adjust he pulled out and slammed back in and Bilbo’s hands scrabbled across the table seeking purchase, trying desperately to find something to hold onto as he pounded her from behind and pleasure flooded her. His fingers dug into her hips and the sounds of their bodies slapping together echoed in the room. Bilbo panted his name with every thrust, completely lost as she began climbing toward that precipice again.

“Answer me,” he said again between harsh breaths. “Who are you?”

“I’m,” Bilbo tried but she was so close, and the words turned to moans.

Thorin leaned over her, nipping at her ear again, and one hand reached around, finding her clit and rubbing it while he continued to pound her. “Who…are…you…” he said, voice going guttural as she began to spasm around him.

“I’m your wife!” Bilbo cried and flew apart. She couldn’t worry about where they were or how loud they were being. All she could do was ride the wave of her orgasm as it exploded through her. Thorin groaned against her and his hips stuttered and then he was there, his own bliss making him shudder and moan.

For a long moment they both lay there, Bilbo trapped between Thorin and the table, Thorin splayed out across her back, his body still jerking inside hers with aftershocks. Finally, he pulled out of her and Bilbo closed her eyes at the wet sound, wondering how she was ever going to get back to their rooms and cleaned up without every dwarf in the mountain knowing what they’d just done. There was a tearing sound, and she turned her head to see Thorin rip a chunk of material from one of the tapestries hanging on the wall.

“Oh, not the tapestry,” she said, though she was grateful when he dampened it with a waterskin and began cleaning her up. His touch now was an infinitely gentle as his earlier treatment was possessive and rough. Bilbo sighed as he finished his ministrations. He leaned down and guided her foot back into her pants, then pulled them up until she took over, righting her clothes and trying to remember how to use words.

“This wasn’t my intention when I asked you to join the council today,” he said softly, and Bilbo looked up from where she fumbled with her belt, trying to stifle her giggles. “Are you…are you _laughing_?” Which, of course, only made her laugh harder.

“I’m sorry,” she snorted, finally getting her clothes back in order while Thorin threw the soiled cloth into the fire. The moisture popped and sizzled in the flames. “How does anyone plan… _that_?” She was still laughing, but she winced when she moved, her body still not fully adjusted to his size.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, reaching out and running his hand over her. “You’re still recovering and I…oh Mahal, Burglar, I’m sorry I don’t know what came over me.”

“Thorin,” she said, grabbing his hands and holding them still in her own, “ _Thorin_. I’m fine. Look at me, I’m fine.”

His eyes roamed across her face and he pulled one hand free to smooth her hair. He made an apologetic face and said, “You look like you just got ravished by the dragon.”

“I’m pretty sure I did just get ravished by the dragon,” she teased him. He flinched and Bilbo finally realized he was seriously concerned for her. “Hey,” she said, reaching up and pulling his face back to look at hers. “Hey. What’s wrong? I thought we both just had a pretty good time, but you look like you’re waiting for me to scream and yell at you.” Bilbo wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him look so chagrined.

“You’ve been terrified of me since you got here,” he said, refusing to meet her glance, “and now I just attack you like I’m the mindless monster you accused me of being. But the idea of you going to Lake-Town, of what might happen…”

Gently, she pulled his face to hers, refusing to let him hide from her as he always refused to let her hide from him. “I was scared of you because I thought you wanted to hurt me or, at least, didn’t care if I got hurt. But I don’t think that now. I haven’t for a long time. I would have told you if I wanted you to stop. I need you trust me, trust that I will say if I’m uncomfortable. And I will trust you to listen.”

His eyes were as unguarded as she had ever seen them, and Bilbo felt something inside her crack wide open. Somehow, this infuriating, bossy dwarf had broken through the locks and chains she had wrapped around her heart to keep it safe, and the truth of her vulnerability, the truth that somewhere along the way she’d fallen in love with this stupid fool, slammed into her.

Standing on her tip toes Bilbo pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth, happy to see his expression returning to something closer to normal. “Sometimes a little intensity is not a bad thing,” she smiled, hiding her own emotions behind humor. “Though how I’m going to walk out that door when everyone must have heard what we were doing in here I don’t know.”

Thorin rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry for how we got here,” he whispered to her. “You deserved courtship and kisses and to be wooed properly. But I’m not sorry to have you here now, with me.”

“And I’m not sorry to be here, now, with you,” she told him. “But yes,” her expression turned wry, “if we could have done this without me having to face a dragon that would have been better.”

He made a frustrated sound and stepped back, but he couldn’t entirely hide his amusement. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Thorin, my darling,” she said in a saccharin voice. “It was a _dragon_. Have you learned your lesson that we shouldn’t go tossing people in the labyrinth for every little thing?”

It was his turn to snort, but then he cupped her face and his expression turned serious and a little sad. “I am sorry it had to be done.”

Bilbo turned her head and kissed his palm. “It didn’t have to be done,” she reminded him. “You thought it did, but I’m here now and we can find another way. There’s a path forward that doesn’t sacrifice the one to the many.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you’re proposing?”

“I’m proposing you allow me the _choice_ ,” she emphasized. “I choose to take this risk. Isn’t that better than ordering someone to give up their safety and their loved ones so they can spy on Lake-Town?”

He pulled his hand back and crossed his arms, but Bilbo could see him softening. 

“It’s the best idea we have,” she said. “And if we follow Fili’s plan, I won’t be alone.” Thorin gave her an anguished look, but then he tossed his hands up and walked to the door.

“Fine,” he conceded. “We will send word to Lake-Town of our arrival to begin negotiations. But I am going too. I’m not staying here while my wife walks into a troll’s den.”

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it. “This is the right choice.”

“Stubborn, frustrating hobbit,” he grumbled, cracking the door and checking it was clear before opening it the rest of the way.

“Hey,” she said with a cheeky grin. “You married me.”

*******

“Your majesty, if you have a moment?” Bilbo looked and saw Galeon approaching her with a worried expression.

“Of course, Galeon what is it?” The emissary paused momentarily, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“Might we go somewhere more…private?” Galeon asked.

“The battlements?”

He gave her a relieved smile, “Please.”

Bilbo led him to their usual spot and turned and waited for him to start talking—whatever it was the elf was clearly upset. Finally, he stopped pacing and turned to her.

“I heard you are going to Lake-Town,” he said. “And that the king intends to accompany you.”

She gave him a quizzical look, trying to ferret out how that news could have him looking like the dragon might break free at any moment. “Yes, it was decided yesterday,” she said. “We leave tomorrow.” The whole mountain had been in an uproar since their departure was announced yesterday. The king traveling to Lake-Town wasn’t usually worth such a furor, but Balin said they should be as loud and ostentatious about it as possible. If they wanted Bilbo to be bait, it worked best if she writhed on the hook.

“But your majesty,” Galeon took an aggrieved breath. “Lake-Town isn’t safe. The Master of Lake-Town is not to be trusted.”

“I know,” she reassured him. “I don’t expect to become best friends with the man. Galeon why are you so worried about this. You look as if you think I’m walking into a trap.”

“Long have the elves kept their eyes on Lake-Town and this latest Master is my least favorite,” he told her seriously. “Whatever you hope to accomplish I beg you to reconsider. Let the king go if you must, but that dreadful town is no place for a hobbit.”

Bilbo cocked her head and gave Galeon a curious stare. This seemed so unlike the cheerful, easy-going elf whose company had kept her going through the winter; rather, he almost seemed like he was…warning her.

“Galeon?” she asked. “What do you think is going to happen? Do you have spies there that have alerted you to something?”

“Bilbo,” he reached down and took her hand between his. She wasn’t sure why but the gesture made her uncomfortable. “There is a price on your head. So long as you were in Erebor you were safe, and it didn’t seem worth mentioning—political games often involve the bounties and attempts on rulers lives but if you leave the safety of these halls…”

“If you knew I was in danger you shouldn’t have kept that to yourself,” she told him, and she was surprised by the sharpness of her tone. This was Galeon—her friend. She never liked it when people were overprotective, she reminded herself, and that’s all this was.

“This is why I am…embarrassed,” he said quietly. “I thought about telling the king but a Mirkwood elf telling the King Under the Mountain that his queen was threatened? I didn’t want to risk it until I knew I must.” Bilbo felt her annoyance melt away and sympathy take its place.

“He does have a tendency to,” she ran through a list of words, “overreact. That is not an unreasonable worry.”

“You are a good friend Bilbo,” he told her. Gently she pulled her hand away and put two steps between them.

“And so are you Galeon and I appreciate the warning, I do,” she said. “But we are leaving tomorrow. I’m going to Lake-Town.”

He gave her a curt bow. “Then I wish only for you to be safe,” he said and departed.

Bilbo stayed where she was—the air was warmer today and the breeze gentle. Spring really was on its way and for a moment she let herself forget about plots and plans and instead imagine the future. Assuming she survived whatever trap waited for her at Lake-Town, Bilbo would return here, and she would plant her garden. And she would see the Shire again, this time with Thorin. She had to do something with Bag End because Erebor would be where she made her home. Here, in this mountain with a dwarf whose touch felt like fire. He’d taken her twice again last night, even after their romp in the council room, and Bilbo still feared these feelings that grew insider her, but she also knew she would never give them up. With every shared touch and sweet moment, Thorin ensured he was more than her husband. He was becoming part of her soul. It wasn’t the life she expected, but Bilbo was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t…better.

“Are you done flirting with your elf?” Thorin asked in a surly voice. Bilbo turned to look at him, but hugged her from behind, so she let her head fall back against his chest.

“Are you jealous?” she teased him.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” he said, giving her a little shake. “Of course, I’m jealous. I’m a dwarf.”

“Oh, are you? I hadn’t noticed.”

He leaned down whispering in her ear, “Maybe I need to remind you.” Bilbo shivered, his voice skittering along her nerves from her ear to her core.

“Stop that,” she elbowed him. “Not out here on the battlements.”

“Do you imagine anyone would dare comment on the activities of their king and queen?”

“Do you imagine I want to perform something so intimate in front of crowd?” Bilbo retorted. “Now behave, I win this round.”

“Hmm,” he grunted. “Just for that I’m only giving you one orgasm tonight.”

“I will give myself as many orgasms as I want,” she said haughtily and Thorin’s arms spasmed around her.

“It better be while I watch,” he said, voice gone husky.

Bilbo laughed, the sound light and clear, and hugged his arms to her. She was going to have to tell him soon, she knew; even if he could never love her, he deserved to know how she felt and that she expected nothing more than this in return.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked in a quiet voice. “I always wonder what’s going through that mind of yours.”

“Ways to kill you in your sleep obviously,” she said and Thorin chuckled, the sound vibrating against her back. Then, taking one last cleansing breath, she stepped away and turned towards him. Then she told him what Galeon had said.

“Galeon told me not to go to Lake-Town,” she relayed. “He said there was a price on my head—he was worried if he told you, you would blame him and said that it didn’t matter so long as I was in Erebor, but now that I was leaving…he was worried.”

“Hmm,” Thorin thought, looking out at the setting sun. When he looked back to her his eyes were deadly serious. “Are you having second thoughts? You don’t have to go.”

“No,” she said. “That’s not why I’m telling you this. I’m going tomorrow. But this thing, whatever it is, must be reasonably serious if we’re being warned off before we even leave.”

“Of course, it’s serious,” he said. “Do you think I would have married you if it wasn’t serious?”

Bilbo couldn’t hide her flinch.

“Dammit that’s not,” Thorin let out an aggrieved sigh and then placed a heavy hand on each of her shoulders. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. You know that.”

“I do,” she reassured him, and she did. Flashing him a wicked smile she said, “I know now that you have a singular talent for phrasing things in the worst way possible.”

“Gee thanks,” he snorted derisively. “Come on Burglar, we’re eating in our rooms tonight.”

“We are? Do I get a say in that?”

“It’s going to be our last night alone together until we come out the other side of this thing,” he told her. “So how do you want to spend it?”

“Lead on your majesty,” she bowed. “I look forward to our private dinner.” Yes, Bilbo thought, smiling as she followed Thorin back to their rooms. She could work with this. She could build a life from this.

***

“Are you done yet?” Thorin asked, voice edgy with impatience.

“No,” Bilbo told him for the fifth time. “You’re the one that said we should have dinner first and you know how seriously I take mealtimes.”

“ _Burglar_ ,” he growled.

“Don’t you ‘burglar’ me,” she told him, spooning her last bite of dessert into her mouth. “Mm, whoever makes this custard is truly a genius.”

“We didn’t come back here to eat custard,” he grumbled, flopping down in his chair in front of the fire.

“We most certainly did,” she told him, wiping her mouth neatly with her napkin and sitting back from the table with a satisfied sigh. “Just because we’re going to do other things too doesn’t mean we should let the food get cold.”

“What about when I get cold?” That earned a snort from Bilbo.

Standing she fetched her pipe and took her own chair across from him. Taking her time—because now annoying him had become her favorite game of the night—Bilbo made a show of packing her pipe and lighting it. She got comfortable and proceeded to blow smoke rings at him.

“Amazing,” Thorin shook his head. “I might as well have had dinner with Balin and Dwalin.”

“It’s not too late,” Bilbo smiled at him. “I’m sure they’re still drinking and carousing at their usual table.” He went back to muttering to himself and Bilbo hid her smile behind another puff. Thus far in their sexual relationship she had been an enthusiastic participant, but she never managed to take control. As soon as Thorin began touching her she turned to jelly, a wanton creature who could only beg him for more. And while Bilbo looked forward to being wanton many, many more times, tonight she was enjoying setting the pace. He was practically vibrating with need and she rather liked making him wait. She would have to do this more often.

But tonight, she had a very specific plan. Thorin had touched and kissed and licked every inch of her. It was her turn to return the favor.

“Burglar is your goal to simply stare me to death,” he groaned. “If you’ve changed your mind you need only tell me, and I will leave you be.”

“How gallant,” she said, tapping her pipe out. “But you know I don’t think I’m quite finished with dessert.”

Thorin kept his eyes trained on the fire and said softly, “I do not enjoy being toyed with.”

“Oh please,” she sauntered over to him. “You love it and we both know it.”

He glared up at her. “You said you wanted more dessert—do I look like custard?”

With a smile that promised all manner of wicked delights, Bilbo dropped to her knees in front of him. Thorin sat back, looking confused. “Your hands stay here,” she said, placing each of his hands on an armrest. “If you let go here, I let go of you.”

“Burglar what are you—” The sound of his hiss as she raked her nails up his thighs was music to her ears. Taking his belt in her hands, she began to work it free and Thorin reached to help her. As soon as he let go of the chair, though, Bilbo pulled her arms back.

“What did I say?” she asked him. He froze, his gaze wary, and slowly returned his hands to their original position. “Better.” When she was satisfied he wasn’t going to move, Bilbo returned to the belt.

She opened it with relative ease and looked up at him through her lashes while she worked the buttons of his pants free. His hands spasmed on the chair, but he didn’t move them, and she let her tongue trace slowly across her lips, reveling in the sound of his breathing growing harsher. Heat pooled inside her as she finished with his clothes and then, gently, she slipped her fingers into his pants and stroked him, freeing him as he swelled at her touch. Fluid beaded at the tip of his erection and she took her time exploring him with her eyes and fingers.

He throbbed in her hand, one vein in particular standing out along the side. Bilbo traced it from base to tip with one fingertip and then she did it again when she saw the way his jaw clenched at her touch.

“Burglar,” he said in a choked whisper.

“Do you want me to stop?”

He shook his head, hands white-knuckling the chair, so she wrapped her hand more firmly around him and leaned over, swirling her tongue around his tip and smiling at the noise he made—it was a desperate yearning sound like he usually drew from her. He was too big for her to swallow whole, but Bilbo got her second hand involved, working to stimulate as much of him at once as she could and eased her mouth onto his cock. Thorin threw his head back with a groan, body rigid beneath her ministrations and Bilbo went to work.

She worked him as deeply as she could into her mouth, head bobbing up and down as she swirled her tongue against that vein. Thorin began panting and she knew he was trying to control himself, trying to keep from thrusting wildly up into her mouth. That knowledge only spurred her on—the sound of her sucking him growing lewd and messy; Thorin whimpered and she tasted more fluid as his body flexed and twitched under her touch. She loved the sensation of having him in her mouth. He was splayed out at her mercy, his body hers for the taking, and she wanted to do this again with him fully naked, laid out on the bed beneath her for the feasting. She slid one hand down, rubbing his balls and she felt how close he was to the edge as his hips stuttered, the instinct to thrust at war with his attempt to do what she said.

“Burglar,” he ground out. “I can’t…”

She released him with a wet pop from her mouth, but her hand stroked him faster. “So don’t,” she said.

With a growl he grabbed her, surprising her with his speed and hauled her up until she was standing in front of him. Before Bilbo could yell at him for ruining her fun, he spun her and yanked her pants off, then pulled her back so that she was sitting on his lap, her back to his front. She felt him, hot and wet against her, and he reached over, pulling one leg up and across the chair so that she was open to his touch. Then his fingers went to work, his cock rubbing against her ass as he stroked.

“Thorin I was going to— _oh, oh_ ,” she broke off as he took her from aroused to dripping in seconds.

“I know what you were going to do,” he said in a guttural tone. “But I want to finish in that tight cunt of yours while you scream my name.” Then he removed his fingers, lifting her before she got her head on straight, and speared her with his cock.

Bilbo’s back arched. This angle had him stroking some part inside of her that made her whole body clench and she undulated on top of him, her hands on the chair now as she began a series of shallow, fast strokes that drove everything from her brain except how good he felt inside her. He reached around and cupped her breasts, pulling her back against him as his hips drove him up into her and Bilbo was the one begging now as her body wound tighter and tighter, her movements growing more frantic and then she was there and she was flying apart around him, and he roared, following her almost immediately.

They slumped back in the chair, his chest heaving and her own breathing not much better. Bilbo thought she might have legitimately seen stars that time.

“Not fair,” she said when she got her breath back. “I was going to make you beg that time.”

“Burglar I’ve been begging since dinner,” he said in a dry tone.

“I lov—” Bilbo just caught herself and corrected what she’d been about to say. “I love the way you make me feel.”

His arms encircled her, holding her tight against him and Bilbo wondered if her heart might actually burst. “Come on,” he said gruffly, standing her up. She was shaky but her legs held. He stood and kicked off his pants, pulling his shirt off then reached for hers so that they were both nude as he led her to the bed. “You made me wait through all of dinner,” he said as he pushed her down on the bed and crawled on top of her. “And there are a lot more ways I want to make you feel.”


	15. The Dragon

The first tremor shook the mountain and woke Bilbo from a dead sleep. She and Thorin had passed out tangled up together and exhausted from their night of lovemaking, but when the mountain shook, they both came awake with a start. She looked at him, sleep-befuddled and unable to figure out what woke her when the second tremor rocked them. Thorin went white with terror.

“The dragon.” He leapt out of bed, stumbling for his clothes and Bilbo was right behind him.

“No,” she said, grabbing a pair of pants and yanking them on. “It’s spelled! How can it—”

Another tremor, this one stronger than the first two, cut her off as she fought to keep her balance.

“I don’t know,” he said yelled over the shaking stone. “But it mustn’t break free!”

They raced into the hall—it was crowded with panicked dwarves all terrified and confused. Screams echoed as they raced around.

“Balin!” Thorin bellowed. “Balin to me!” The crowd ebbed and flowed around him, but carried Bilbo as she fought the crush of bodies. The wave of people carried her along emptying out into the Great Hall, the largest of the rooms and the one she’d marveled at during her first feast in Erebor. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

“To the shelters!” Bilbo turned in a circle, hearing Thorin’s orders but unable to see him over the crowd. “Get them to safety!”

There was another wave of bodies and Bilbo clawed her way to the wall, struggling to stay upright and not be trampled under the terrified horde. Her mind was as chaotic as the scene before her—how was the dragon breaking loose? What was causing the magic to weaken? _Where was Thorin_?!

Another tremor shook the mountain, the strongest one yet, and Bilbo was knocked to her knees as sobs intermingled with the fearful cries coming from the crowd. Someone stepped on her hand and Bilbo yanked it back to her, curling into a ball and pressing hard against the wall. Someone else kicked her and a young dwarven girl tripped, falling on top of her. Bilbo helped her up as best she could, but then Bilbo was knocked down again, under the flow of bigger bodies.

“Burglar!”

“Thorin?” she called out, and then again, as loud as she was able, “THORIN!” Her cry cut off as she was shoved into the wall, then became a grunt when more boots kicked her in their scramble to get by. But then the crowd parted, and Bilbo looked up into the blessed space that had opened around her and saw Thorin reaching down to lift her up.

“We have to get you to a shelter,” he said, pulling her to her feet and then crushing her to him. “Come on.”

“Thorin wait, no,” she pushed away from him, but then shoved back close by the crowd. “I want to help.”

“What can you do?” he asked worriedly, trying to get her moving again. “I need to know you’re safe.”

“I don’t know,” she told him, pushing on his chest until he stopped. “But I want to try.”

The mountain shook and Bilbo heard the terrible sound of stone cracking. They were almost out of time. Thorin gave her a frustrated look, but there was no arguing over this.

“Come on,” he said, and grabbed her hand, pulling her behind him as he moved upstream.

A space had been carved out at the front of the room, the guards holding the crowd back and directing them to shelters built precisely for this catastrophe—Bilbo was impressed by the dwarves’ preparations, but then she supposed it didn’t make sense to build a kingdom on top of a dragon and not plan for the worst. Balin and Dwalin were already there with a handful of others but Bilbo could see the barely contained fear behind everyone’s eyes.

“Do we know what weakened the magic?” Thorin asked. “And can we put it back before it’s too late?”

“I don’t think so lad,” Balin answered. “Master Nori found this by the entrance to the labyrinth, but I think the damage has been done.” Balin placed a small talisman on Thorin’s outstretched palm and Bilbo saw strange runes before Thorin closed his fist around it.

“Have we alerted Dale? Lake-Town?” Thorin asked next.

“We’re ringing the bells now,” Dwalin answered. “The guards are manning the dragon lances.” For one brief moment, Thorin looked down and Bilbo saw the weight of his kingdom crushing him. His jaw was set in angry lines, but there was pain in his eyes, not rage.

“We’ve no choice but to fight then,” he said, looking back up with a determined expression. “Everyone to your posts. Prepare for battle.”

They separated and Bilbo turned, working out where she could be the most help, when Thorin’s hand closed around hers and pulled her back to him. She looked up at him with questioning eyes.

“You need to get to a shelter,” he told her softly, gently tucking her hair behind her ear before cupping her face in his palm. “I need to know you’re safe.”

“And you think I worry any less about you?” she asked, leaning into his touch. “Where can I be useful. I won’t panic and I’ve faced him before—let me help.”

“Bilbo—” Her name was a broken whisper on his lips, a plea for her to go, to be safe. But she reached up and pulled his face to hers, kissing him with all the worry, promise, and love tangled up inside her.

Breaking away she said again, “Let me help.”

For one heartbeat he looked at her with anguished worry, and then he blinked. He was now the King Under the Mountain and they had a kingdom to save.

“Make sure the children and the families are safe in the shelters and then begin a tally of needed supplies,” he said. “Everyone who can swing a sword will be doing what they can and if…if anything happens those people need food and water until they can get to safety.”

_I love you_ , she wanted to say but not like this, not in this moment of panic and fear. So, instead, she simply nodded, gave his hands one last squeeze with her own, and left.

Bilbo raced through the crowd, her terror increasing with every tremor that rocked the mountain, the shaking near-constant by the time she had taken stock of where the shelters were and what they needed. She was back up in the upper levels giving orders to several dwarves who had joined her once they realized what she was doing; they were gathering waterskins, bread, cheese—anything that could be easily carried down to the terrified families huddled together deep within the mountain. The shelters were built to withstand the dragon’s wrath if he ever broke free and each had escape tunnels built in, but none of it had ever been tested. She was sure everyone hoped they never would be.

The beginning of the end started with a small tremor, the dishes rattled, and food began to fall off pantry shelves. The intensity steadily increased until Bilbo could barely stay on her feet, shelves tipping over, glass breaking, and the terrible sound of breaking stone that drowned out the commotion of panicked cries and crashing furniture. And then she heard the roar. It was a sound that still haunted her nightmares, a roar she could not forget no matter how desperately she tried.

Smaug was free.

Bilbo’s body locked up, the terror of her nightmare coming true freezing her in place. Somewhere nearby a dwarf began crying, his sobs as primal as the beast which caused them. Making her legs work, taking first one step, then another, each step forcing her body to move against the current of fear that told her to run. Told her to hide. Told her to not let herself be seen. But that wasn’t who Bilbo Baggins was, so she fought that instinct, rejected it until she was racing up the hallway, the din of battle growing louder with each step.

She turned a corner and skidded to a stop. The dragon was up on its hindlegs, wings spread wide in the space of the Great Hall while a row of dwarves charged at it with lances. As Bilbo watched, Smaug came down on his front feet, the impact knocking the dwarves off their feet and she cried out as the dragon snatched one dwarf up in his jaws and snapped it in half, the dwarf still screaming as his mutilated torso fell back to the floor. They tried to regroup for another attack, but Smaug swept his tail, unnervingly fast for such a large beast, and knocked three more into a wall with a sickening crack.

And that was when she saw the dwarven child huddled in an alcove not ten feet behind the battle. Bilbo didn’t question what she had to do.

Sprinting across the room, trying to keep wreckage and furniture between her and the spinning dragon, Bilbo worked her way over to the other side. Smaug was pushing the dwarves back, closer and closer to the gates which took him farther and farther from where the child lay, curled in a ball. Bilbo ducked around shattered tables, trying to avoid looking at the corpses of the dwarves littering the room, and slipped into the alcove next to the child. He was shaking so hard, Bilbo didn’t know how she was going to get him up, but when she put her hand on the child’s shoulder the little one threw himself at her, wrapping arms and legs around her and burying his face in Bilbo’s neck.

“Okay, I’ve got you,” Bilbo crooned in a soft voice. Clutching the small body to her, she peeked out. Smaug was nearly at the gates and once he broke out…it didn’t bear thinking about. Hugging the wall Bilbo moved as fast and as quietly as she could away from the raging battle. She was nearly at the door when a shockwave knocked her off her feet. The child flew away from her, skidding into the door frame and Bilbo scraped across the rock on her belly, coming to a stop with arms and legs outstretched. Dazed, she pushed up and saw the boy staring at something behind Bilbo in abject horror. Already knowing what she was going to see, Bilbo looked over her shoulder and saw Smaug prowling towards her.

“I could smell your stink, _Thief_ ,” Smaug rumbled, his great body even more terrifying than Bilbo remembered. “And I so looked forward to our reunion.”

“Go!” she shouted at the child. “Run!” And then, pushing back to her own feet, she stumbled in the opposite direction. Smaug’s tail slammed down in front of her and Bilbo fell back, landing hard. One great foot crashed down on her other side so that she was trapped between the rock and the dragon. Bilbo looked up, up, up into that vicious maw and those sword-teeth, and Smaug laughed at her—toying with his prey.

“You didn’t think I would forget you, did you?” he rumbled.

“Who am I to one as great as you?” she asked, eyes scanning, searching, desperate for an escape and knowing there wasn’t one.

“Such a small, insignificant creature,” Smaug hissed, leaning over her and that was when Bilbo saw it. A single, vulnerable spot on his left breast where one of his scales had come loose. If only she had some way to let the others know.

“She’s short, not small!” Smaug and Bilbo both looked to the side and there was Dwalin, Fili, and Kili holding torches…and pulling a cart full of explosive rock. With a mighty push they sent the cart rolling towards Smaug. Dwalin screamed at Bilbo to get away and she scrambled to her feet, running along the wall as fast as she could as Smaug turned and roared, his chest glowing red as he prepared to roast them all. Fili threw his torch, but it was short, missing the cart entirely. Dwalin’s bounced off the outside. Kili’s torch landed right in the middle and that was all Bilbo had time to see before she was blasted off her feet, rock and rubble clattering down around her, pummeling her while she choked on dust and fought for air. There was a tremendous pain as something crashed into her skull, and then everything went black.

***

Bilbo wondered if she was dead. She couldn’t move and everything was dark, and she thought maybe this was it. It wasn’t so bad—she was still her. She never thought too much about what would happen when she died, but she always imagined she would simply…stop existing. That whatever happened she wouldn’t be around to think about.

Then the pain hit.

First, she began coughing, her lungs feeling like they were on fire and every breath she tried to take caught on the dust and debris that seemed lodged in her throat. Her limbs were a mess of little and big agonies, one arm trapped completely, her hand feeling like it was being crushed. She was able to shift the rocks pressing down on her slightly as she rocked her body back and forth, but there was no sign it accomplished anything. She didn’t know how long she lay there, trapped and buried—in the horrible dark she fought her panic; each second felt like an eternity and she tried to control herself, tried to be patient, tried not to give into the urge to thrash and scream and cry.

“Bilbo?!” she heard, as if through a wall. “Bilbo!”

“I’m here!” she screamed or, rather, tried to scream. Her cry was cut off as she choked and began coughing, but she shifted more, the noises above her growing louder, and kept trying to cry out between hacking breaths.

“Bilbo! Bilbo!” they cried. The rock over her head was lifted away, the light blinding her, and then more rocks were shifted, the pain lessening to something more bearable as they freed her arms and legs. Bilbo coughed up the rest of the dust as Dwalin lifted her out of the rubble and then pounded on her back until she waved him away and gasped shallow breaths.

“Thank the mountain we didn’t kill her,” Dwalin said.

“If we could have thought of a different way—” Fili started.

“The dragon was going to eat you!” Kili finished.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said hoarsely. Then, another panicked thought came back to her, “Where’s the child?! Did he make it?!”

The three dwarves looked at each other in confusion and Bilbo pushed away, hobbling over the rubble of the explosion towards where she thought the child used to be. But there was no door left and, after frantically searching the rocks as best she could, there was no body that Bilbo could find. She was just going to have to hope the young dwarf got away.

Her heart aching along with the rest of her Bilbo turned back to her saviors and that was when she saw the gates—shattered and hanging in ruins. Smaug had escaped the mountain.

“Oh no,” she gasped.

She set off again, this time towards the gates as Dwalin, Fili, and Kili came up behind her, yelling for her to stop. But Bilbo needed to see what was happening outside; she needed to tell someone about what she’d seen. When she stepped out of the mountain, though, there was no one—the battlements were a broken mess of shattered rock and more dwarven corpses. Bilbo felt a scream building inside her, but she couldn’t let it out; she couldn’t fall apart yet. There was Smaug, in the skies over Lake-Town and he was blasting fire, tearing humans out of towers and knocking down buildings. Smoke rose in plumes around him.

“Bilbo you can’t go fight the dragon,” Fili said. “By the time we reach Lake-Town the battle will already be over.”

“Then he’s going to come back her and finish the job,” Dwalin said.

“There’s a weakness,” Bilbo told them. “I saw it, a spot above his left breast where he’s vulnerable but I can’t—I need to _tell_ someone!” And then the scream did burst out of her. It wasn’t long and dramatic but an explosion of sound that carried her fear, her worry, and her guilt. It echoed off the rubble of Erebor and startled several birds to flight.

The dragon was loose, and it had slaughtered so many. Bilbo didn’t know who was to blame or how it had happened, but the dwarves were responsible for keeping it imprisoned and she was one of them now. Smaug had become her responsibility as surely as he was Thorin’s the day she became Queen Under the Mountain. And now they had failed, and people had died.

“Easy lass,” Balin’s familiar voice said behind her. “You’ve done all you can. This is a bigger foe than any of us can fight.”

“Balin!” she cried, spinning around and throwing her arms around the old dwarf. He accepted her embrace without complaint, giving her a quick hug before setting her back on her feet.

“We need to leave before the dragon comes back,” Balin told her. “And we need to get those dwarves in the shelter evacuated.”

“Where’s Thorin?” she demanded. “Was he with you? Did he…is he…” she couldn’t finish her question, so impossible was the idea that Thorin could be gone.

“We were separated in the fighting,” Balin said seriously, “but last I saw he was still alive. He’s a tough dwarf Bilbo—he’ll be alright.”

“Were you on the battlements?” she asked looking around. “Maybe he’s buried or trapped like I was—we need to search for him and…”

“Well at least I know my wife wouldn’t be happy to see me dead.” Thorin came limping around the corner and Bilbo began to throw herself at him as she had Balin, but she stopped as he moved into the light. He was wounded badly, and Bilbo couldn’t imagine how he was still on his feet.

His hair and beard were matted with blood from a long gash across his temple. His face was already swelling with bruises and he clutched his side where Bilbo saw more blood staining his clothes. As he moved out into the open, Bilbo saw the blood hadn’t run down but that he was burned from his ribs down past his thigh.

“ _Thorin_.” She went to his good side and helped him over to a chunk of rock he could sit on. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

“You’ve done enough Burglar,” he said, reaching up with his good hand and tipping her face so he could examine her injuries as she had looked at his. “Nori is evacuating the shelters—he said you got a lot of supplies to them before the dragon broke out.”

“Not as many as—”

“ _And_ ,” Thorin cut her off with a stern glare, “Gloin sent word that you saved his son. The young lad showed up at the shelter in tears and said you got him away from the dragon before you were eaten. You can imagine how that message made me feel.”

“Oh, Thorin I’m so sorry,” she said. “But he was trapped by the battle and—”

“Hush, I know,” Thorin said then winced and shifted on the rock. When his breathing evened out again, he looked at her, and the emotion in his gaze made Bilbo’s heart feel like it would beat out of her chest. “You are truly the most heroic among us,” he said quietly. Bilbo’s eyes filled with tears and the words she wanted to say, the words she’d been waiting to say nearly burst out of her.

“As much as I hate to interrupt this touching moment,” Fili said, “Smaug is going to come back and when he does, we do not want to be here.”

“All those people,” Bilbo sighed, looking back to the horrific nightmare that was Lake-Town. But then the most peculiar thing happened.

As Bilbo watched, a large dark shape shot through the sky and disappeared into the shadowy form of Smaug. The dragon let out a roar so loud they heard it at the mountain, flying up into the sky, spinning chaotically and then…he fell. Smaug plunged through the air into the lake, huge waves and steam rising up and slamming into the shores and burning buildings of Lake-Town.

There was silence.

“What…just happened.” Kili was the first to speak.

“Did Smaug just…die?” Fili asked.

“Mahal preserve us,” Balin breathed.

“Fuck me, that’s convenient,” Dwalin finished.

Bilbo looked, wide-eyed at Thorin, his surprise and disbelief mirroring her own. It couldn’t be over; they couldn’t have survived the dragon…could they?

“I guess someone should tell Nori to stop the evacuations,” Thorin said.


	16. The Spy

Bilbo and Thorin sat outside for more than an hour after they saw the dragon fall—both of them incapable of believing what they’d seen and both too scared to trust it. He let her do what she could for his injuries; though, that was barely more than clean them. Eventually Balin sent for them; the evacuations had been halted, dwarves were coming back to Erebor and everyone was getting to work. It was time to organize the rebuilding.

It was inevitable that the elves and humans would be seeking answers as to how the dragon escaped and Lake-Town and Dale would need aid to rebuild; Thorin began issuing orders while Master Oin was tending him, so Bilbo turned to Fili and Kili and said, “We need crews to begin clearing rubble and search for anyone who is trapped. We need another crew to gather the bodies and help identify them and prepare their burials. Master Oin needs space where he and his healers can treat the injured—focus on clearing out the Great Hall first and we can set cots up in there.”

It took her a moment to realize everyone had stopped talking and another to see they were all looking at her. “What?” she asked them, turning to Thorin who couldn’t hide his smile. “Are you laughing at me? Is this…are my suggestions not appropriate for dwarves in this situation?”

“You heard your queen,” Thorin said, still giving her that same, small smile. “I think she just demonstrated herself more than capable of overseeing our immediate concerns.”

“Wait…what?” Bilbo asked.

“You’re a natural leader lass,” Balin said. “And a damn fine one. We dwarves are better off for having you in our midst.”

“Well, I, uh, thank you,” Bilbo stammered. “I just thought you’ll be busy dealing with, you know, kingdomy-stuff and hobbits are good with this kind of thing.”

“Hobbits are good at putting Erebor back together after a dragon attacks?” Kili asked her. But before Bilbo could even roll her eyes, Fili elbowed his brother and dragged him off.

“We’re on it!” Fili shouted back over his shoulder. And then, “Dwalin get over here!”

“Burglar,” Thorin called her over, then winced as Oin pulled out a particularly deeply embedded shard of rock from his thigh. “I want you to know that I am more grateful than you can imagine that you were _not_ eaten by the dragon. And I also, _ow_ , want to say that I trust you completely. I wasn’t laughing at you. I was admiring you.” He reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze, and Bilbo wished desperately that they were somewhere alone, and she could tell him how much his words meant.

But they weren’t, and now wasn’t the time. So, with a smile of her own, she left Thorin to the problems of inter-kingdom relations and headed for the Great Hall. They needed to get that clinic set up.

***

By the time the sun set a day later, Bilbo had most of the Great Hall cleaned up—cots lined the space full of dwarves with everything from broken bones to one impaled by a mining tool. She was almost dead on her feet; the dragon woke them up two nights ago which meant she had been awake for over a day and a half. But still there was so much to do.

Fili and Kili were leading the crew collecting and preparing the deceased themselves; they had the fewest personal relationships which helped, but more importantly, as Fili pointed out, their presence made clear that the lives lost when Smaug escaped were to be honored. Dwalin had taken over search and rescue; his group methodically moved through the mountain clearing rubble, helping those who were trapped and making sure everyone got to where they needed to go. There were still a lot of dwarves missing, and the damage and loss of life was staggering, but they were making progress.

Bilbo stumbled and caught herself, giving her body a little shake to wake up. She knew she had to sleep soon if only for a few hours, but she wanted to make sure Master Oin had the supplies and space he needed and that Bombur and the rest of the kitchen staff were settled and that—

“It’s time to get a few hours of rest,” Balin said, putting his hand up to stop Bilbo before she walked straight into him. “I finally forced Thorin into sleep so don’t think you’re going to win this.”

“I know,” Bilbo tried to shake him off, “I just need to—”

“You need to sleep,” Balin said, his grip on her tightening. “We’ve got this under control. We can keep it running for a few hours without you.”

Bilbo nodded, or thought she did, and then dutifully walked off in the direction of their rooms. She had no idea if the chambers were even still whole, but she imagined if Thorin couldn’t rest there Balin would have told her. She was moving through a haze, the exhaustion pulled at her eyes blurring the world slightly and her head hung heavy as she walked. Still, she was amazed by the work that was already accomplished making this place livable again. The stubbornness of dwarves made them frustrating and intractable—sometimes to their own detriment—but it also made them as resilient as the mountains where they built their homes. She huffed a laugh as she stepped over some broken rocks and pushed through the door; who would have thought she would feel _happy_ to be here. Especially after a second encounter with the dragon.

Their private quarters were in relatively good shape—some new cracks ran along the walls and most everything had been knocked off shelves by the shaking, but the ceiling hadn’t caved in and the smoke from the fireplace wasn’t backing up into the room. Walking into their bedroom Bilbo saw Thorin sprawled out across the bed on his back, and her heart clenched at his injuries. He was naked, the burned side of his body shiny with an ointment she hoped worked as well as everything else Master Oin had ever used and bandages were wrapped around his opposite arm and leg where debris had punctured him in the battle. His skin was mottled with bruises and swelling, and Bilbo would have held him to her and cried if she wasn’t sure that would only cause him more pain.

“Is that gasp because you’re still awed by my majestic beauty or because you can’t bear my hideousness,” Thorin said, eyes still closed.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” she snapped at him. “You should be healing.”

“I was asleep,” he said drolly. “The real question is why aren’t _you_ asleep?”

“I’m working on it,” she grumbled, picking her way across the room to her side. Using the last of her energy, Bilbo cleaned herself up—the blood and dirt of the last two days turning the water an unappealing shade. Then, satisfied she wouldn’t infect Thorin just by laying next to him, she slid into the sheets. It felt so good to lay down, Bilbo let out a moan that was practically indecent.

“Keep making noises like that and even these injuries won’t stop me,” Thorin said, but the sleepiness of his tone belied the joke.

“Go to sleep husband,” Bilbo said, reaching over and smoothing his hair back from his face. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

Thorin let out a little contented grunt, a sweet smile that squeezed Bilbo’s heart tugging up his lips. His breathing evened out and, even though her own exhaustion was pulling her down into sweet oblivion, she fought it for another moment, cherishing this brief time of quiet solitude with the dwarf she never thought could make her feel this way.

“I love you,” she breathed, the words so soft they didn’t make it past her pillow. And then, finally, she slept.

***

When Bilbo woke, she felt like she’d barely slept at all, but Thorin was already up and rummaging around the piles of stuff littered across the floor. He had on a blanket wrapped around his waist and he kept lifting up pieces of clothing and then discarding them over his shoulder effectively just moving the piles from one part of the room to another.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“Looking for a nightshirt and robes,” he said, not stopping his explorations. “If I have to put on pants before these burns scab over, I might as well give up and go back to bed.”

She sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes or, rather, tried; the exhaustion was still crawling under her skin. She stretched and yawned until her jaw cracked then she threw the blankets back, but stopped when she saw that Thorin paused his searching and was instead staring at her like a starving man at a feast.

“What?”

“I am going to be incredibly irritable for a very long time,” he groused, turning back to the floor.

“Why?” she laughed, standing up and beginning the search for a clean set of her own clothes.

“Because we don’t have the time for me to make clear _exactly_ how happy I am you were not eaten by Smaug.”

Bilbo smiled as a blush warmed her. “You also decided to stand in dragon fire like some sort of fool dwarf,” she reminded him.

He grunted, clearly considering his injuries an afterthought. When had this happened, Bilbo wondered as she expanded her search. When, precisely, had she begun to enjoy this banter they shared? When did this desire she felt to tell him everything, to share every moment and memory, become omnipresent in her life? She hummed a sweet tune to herself as she finally found a sturdy set of clothes and began tugging them on.

Thorin had done the same, draping himself first in a long shirt before using his royal robes so it looked less like he was wandering around in his pajamas. He was still rooting around for something, when Bilbo went in the bathing chamber. When she came back, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his boots on, and a scrap of paper clutched in his hands.

“What is this?” he asked her. He looked serious, the good humor and easy manner of a moment ago vanished. Bilbo walked over to him and looked at what he held up, seeing the map Galeon had given her what seemed like a lifetime ago. Bilbo hadn’t even known she still had it.

“That’s the map to the Herbalists house,” she told him. “Where I was trying to go when I got lost and ended up at the shack with those three dwarves.”

“There’s no herbalist outside of Dale in these parts Burglar,” Thorin said quietly.

“What? No,” Bilbo shook her head. “She’s between here and Mirkwood, along the river and—”

“This is a map to that shack,” Thorin interrupted her. “Who gave it to you?”

“It can’t be,” she argued. “I got lost—”

“There is only one area where the road and river bend away from each other like that,” he said, voice growing more intense. “ _Who gave this to you_.”

Bilbo opened and closed her mouth, unwilling to accept what she was hearing. It couldn’t be—if what he was saying were true then that would mean…

“Burglar!” Thorin snapped.

“Galeon.” She looked at the floor, torn in two by what this might mean and not wanting to consider the consequences. But Thorin was already up and moving towards the hall, his limp still pronounced but better than yesterday.

Bilbo followed him, head spinning, and they made their way back to the Great Hall, Thorin bellowing for Balin and Dwalin before they’d even come around the corner into the room.

“What? What?!” Dwalin grumbled, rushing over from where he’d been eating with Fili and Kili.

“Find the Mirkwood Emissary,” Thorin ordered him. “Do _not_ let him leave this mountain.”

“You can’t think it was the elf,” Balin said, joining them. “He was here with the rest of us when the dragon broke free—I saw him in the lower levels with the others when everything went to shit.”

“He gave Bilbo this map,” Thorin said, handing it over. Balin and Dwalin’s eyebrows went up simultaneously.

“It was no mistake she ended up in the hands of those dishonorable excuses for dwarves then,” Balin said, looking at Bilbo for confirmation.

“I thought that was a map to an herbalist’s house,” she said softly. “I thought he was my friend.”

“Friendship is as rare to find in the court as true loyalty,” Dwalin told her. “Look’s like our elf’s got some explaining to do.” Dwalin and Balin took off, Dwalin yelling at Fili and Kili to get off their butts and come help, and Bilbo followed after. Thorin reached out and grabbed her though, pulling her back.

“Burglar,” he said. “You don’t need to go with them.”

“I know I don’t need to, but I want to,” she told him, trying to shake off his grip.

“There’s a lot of mountain to search, assuming the elf is even still here,” he said. “And you haven’t eaten yet.”

“Thorin,” she sighed, holding her forearm up and staring at him until he released her. “Why are you worried about me going with them? Are you worried I’m in league with Galeon?”

“Of course not,” he said brusquely, and she cocked an eyebrow. “I’m _not_. I said I trust you and I meant it. But you considered him a friend. You don’t need to be there for this.”

“It’s because I consider him a friend,” she said, “that I do. The food will be here when I get back.”

He gave her one last pleading look and then she was gone, racing after the retreating forms of the other dwarves.

They headed down into the lower levels where Balin had last seen him. They didn’t have to go far before the wreckage and rubble grew steadily worse. Paths had been cleared to the shelters, but much of the lower levels remained impassable; they were closer to where the dragon broke out and the tremors had been stronger here. Dwarves were working in shifts, digging through as fast as they could, but while more and more survivors were found every hour there was still so much mountain left to search. Galeon could have easily escaped through one of the tunnels leading out of the shelters, but he could just as easily be trapped or dead in one of the collapsed passageways.

“We’ll pick a tunnel they haven’t gotten to yet, no reason for us to sit here and wait,” Dwalin said, gesturing with his head to the dwarves tirelessly working to clear rubble. He set the tools he had picked up on the ground after handing Balin a pickaxe. “Fili, Kili, go around and tell them all what we’re after. Make sure they know to holler if they find him.” With a nod, the two youngest took off.

“Alright lass,” Balin said as he hefted the pickaxe in his hand. “We’ll start breaking up the rock, you clear it away.”

Bilbo nodded and they all got to work.

***

It was backbreaking work and Bilbo sipped greedily at the water skin Kili brought to them. They’d been at this for hours—long enough for Fili and Kili to come back after alerting the other work crews and grab their own tools, and then for Kili to be sent off for food and water. The other crews were rotating out, but Bilbo knew none of them were going to stop any time soon; the hunt was still on for whoever left that talisman by the labyrinth and with the evidence of Galeon’s treachery before their eyes…Bilbo wasn’t sure what explanation her friend could possibly have besides the obvious one.

“Don’t look so sad lass,” Balin said to her, handing the waterskin to Dwalin. “Betrayal is a part of being royal. You couldn’t have known.”

“But I should have,” she said, combing her memories, looking for any sign, any hint that Galeon was manipulating her. “It’s what Thorin has been trying to tell me all along isn’t it? The rules change when dealing with kings and dragons.”

“But you can’t let yourself be too suspicious,” Kili said. “Our uncle was…well, let’s just say I like him a lot better this visit than I did the last.”

“He had his reasons,” Dwalin said gruffly.

“Never said he didn’t,” Kili replied.

“But that doesn’t change that he was growing mean for years,” Fili backed up his brother.

“Doesn’t do us any good to sit here and debate what was and should have been,” Balin told them all, wincing and putting a hand on his back as he stood up. “We’re nearly through this tunnel.”

“We’ve searched three tunnels already,” Kili groaned. “The elf is gone.”

“But we found Bifur and Dori didn’t we,” Balin reminded him. “And who knows who else is trapped down here waiting to be dug out.” Kili nodded his head and picked up his pickaxe with a sigh.

“Over here!” someone called out. “We need help! There are children over here!”

Bilbo took off, the dwarves close behind her, and they all raced towards the young dwarf waving them towards another tunnel. They ran through a series of winding passages, the narrow paths through the rubble showing nearly the whole thing had been buried before it opened out into a larger room dominated by a large pile of rock on the far side. Several dwarves were frantically digging, and Bilbo could just make out the cries of small voices.

Dwalin, Balin, Fili, and Kili immediately joined, doing what they could to provide aid. Bilbo began darting in and out, clearing away the debris so that the dwarves digging could keep going without having to worry about climbing over what they’d just moved or dug. The cries grew louder, and Bilbo’s heart twisted at how scared they must be and how long they’d been trapped here. She wasn’t sure where they were or if this had been near a shelter, but the whole area seemed more badly damaged than where she and her group had been working these past hours.

“Can you hear me?” Dwalin called out. “We’re almost to you!”

“Help! Please help us!”

“We’re coming!” Kili shouted. “Hang on!”

Everyone worked furiously, the dust filling the air until they were all coughing and pulling material up over their noses and mouths. Finally, Dwalin pulled back a stone, Balin working a lever in to help it move and then everyone helping safely move it with a great cry of effort. An opening was revealed, and Kili jumped through almost immediately even as Fili and Balin yelled at him to wait.

“I’ve got them!” Kili shouted back. “Three younglings, I’m going to pass them through!”

The first dusty face appeared, tear-streaked and filthy and one of the dwarves Bilbo didn’t know grabbed the child and moved them to safety. Then the second, then the third—but when Kili popped his head out, ready to climb back through one of the children cried out.

“Master Galeon is back there!” they cried. “Don’t forget him, he saved us!”

Everyone paused, sharing a look that communicated their surprise better than words, and then Kili disappeared back into the hole. Bilbo brought water to the children and then gasped when a bloody, half-dead Galeon appeared, being forcefully shoved out of the hole by Kili behind him.

“Help him!” Bilbo snapped and Fili leapt forward to grab the elf’s shoulders and pull him out. Traitor or not, he had saved these children and Bilbo had never been in the habit of treating people like dirt even if they did deserve it. One of the children, a young dwarf girl Bilbo thought, began crying harder.

“He saved us fro—from the dragon,” she sobbed. “And gave us his water and—and told us you were coming!”

“Shh, shh,” the dwarf holding her soothed her. “It’s alright now. We’ll get you all taken care of.”

“Please don’t be mean to him,” another of the children cried. “He said lots of people were going to be angry at him and—and—”

“Hush lad,” Balin told him. “You don’t need to worry about any of that. Now let’s get you all to the Great Room and see if we can’t find your families.”

“And Master Galeon?” the girl asked.

“And Master Galeon,” Dwalin said, though there was nothing reassuring about it.

They walked back the way they came, a different dwarf carrying each child and Fili and Kili carrying Galeon. A cheer went up when they reached the populated hallways again, the dwarven workers clapping and celebrating the rescued children. There was confusion when Galeon went by more than anything else—word had gone around that he was being searched for but no one knew why.

The commotion increased as they came into the Great Hall, Master Oin rushing over and Fili and Kili depositing Galeon fairly unceremoniously on a cot. The children were tended to first, their families rushing to them after their names were circulated and Bilbo stayed back, giving them space as they reunited.

She found herself eyeing Galeon on his cot, bleeding and forgotten, like he might jump up and attack her. He was covered in dirt and dried blood, and his leg had a nasty gash in it. Most of him was a mess of scrapes and ugly bruises leaving him as wounded from all of this as any of the dwarves; well, she amended, except for the dead dwarves.

“Bilbo,” he said, voice tight with pain. “You…know.”

Bilbo sighed. She never had been good at keeping her expression clear of her thoughts. She approached him hesitantly, getting close enough to whisper but still watching him like he was a viper. “What did you do?” she hissed at him.

Galeon laid back with a sigh and closed his eyes before he answered her. “Everything.”


	17. The Betrayal

“You have to treat him.”

“We do not.”

“You cannot throw him in a cell without treating his wounds first!”

“HE RELEASED THE DRAGON.”

“The elves would treat a dwarf humanely in this situation.”

For just a moment, Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure Thorin wasn’t going to scream at her. It was a low blow, she knew that, but it worked. With a jerky nod he called Oin over who began looking over Galeon with as much reluctance as Thorin had agreeing to it. But Bilbo knew how stubborn dwarves could be and she also knew that treating prisoners humanely— _especially_ after they released a dragon—was what brought true honor. It was all well and good to be a magnanimous leader in the good times, but how they treated Galeon right now was the real test. And because of that, she would fight as dirty as she had to even if Thorin hated her for it.

“You are too soft-hearted Burglar,” Thorin said to her in a low growl. “Just because the children say he saved them does not mean he deserves forgiveness.”

“Deserve has nothing to do with it,” Bilbo said back. “What he did was unforgiveable, but to treat him like a monster would make us unforgiveable.”

“Hmph,” Thorin grunted. “Too soft.” Bilbo rolled her eyes and reached over and grabbed his hand. He grumbled but didn’t pull away.

“So, what now?” she asked.

“All the children are accounted for,” Thorin said. “We’re still clearing tunnels but Fili and Kili think they’ve identified everyone killed in the attack and mourning will begin tomorrow. All that’s left now is to question our prisoner.”

“What will you do with him?”

“Whatever I must,” he said simply. “If he acted under Thranduil’s orders then…”

Bilbo didn’t like the way he trailed off. “Then what?”

“Then this was an act of war.”

Her stomach clenched; the idea of going to war, of _more_ death and bloodshed when they were still reeling from the damage wrought by the dragon made her nauseous. “Surely war isn’t—”

“This is not the place for that conversation,” he cut her off. His tone was firm but kind, and Bilbo nodded, respecting his wishes in that, at least. Still, she had no intention of letting it go. A war between Erebor and Mirkwood would be devastating to both kingdoms and would almost certainly destroy Lake-Town and Dale in the process. Bilbo understood they couldn’t do nothing—Thranduil had unleashed a dragon that killed many—but she refused to believe all-out war was the only choice left to them. Death should not be followed with more death.

“Master Oin,” Thorin said, raising his voice to speak to the others. “When you deem him treated please have Balin and Dwalin escort him to whichever cell remains standing. It is time we—”

“Thorin! Your majesty!” All eyes turned to e ran into the room, out of breath and panting to catch his breath.

“What now,” Thorin sighed.

“Sir, there’s an army at our gates!” Ori gasped out. “Humans _and_ elves—they’re setting up tents right now!”

Thorin bit out a curse and took off for the shattered gates. Bilbo followed along with Balin and Dwalin who ordered Fili and Kili to see to the elf. As they burst out onto the battlements Bilbo couldn’t stifle her gasp of surprise—Ori hadn’t been exaggerating.

“Shore up the gates!” Thorin roared. “I want that hole sealed and I don’t want another blasted elf to set foot inside this mountain!” The dwarves leapt into action, but Bilbo tugged on Thorin’s sleeve, demanding his attention until he gave her a curt “What?!”

“They’re not attacking,” she told him.

“Of course they aren’t,” he said impatiently. “They’re laying in for a siege.”

“No, I mean look at them,” she said again. “No siege weapons, the humans are barely armed if at all—I think they’re here to talk.”

“Whatever they want to talk about we’re not listening,” Thorin growled. “No doubt Thranduil and his allies hope to find us vulnerable and desperate.”

Bilbo seriously wanted to hit him. “We don’t know that,” she insisted.

“What do you imagine happens next Burglar?” he snapped at her. “Thranduil sent a spy into our midst and that spy nearly succeeded in having you killed and then did succeed in wrecking our home and slaughtering our people. Do you think we all just say ‘whoops sorry!’ and go on with our lives?”

“First of all, there’s no reason to get mean about it,” she shot back, temper igniting. “I’m fully aware of what Galeon did since I was there for all of it. And we were not the only ones to suffer. The smoke is still rising from Lake-Town! Those humans down there might be here to ask for help.”

Thorin’s eyes flashed but then he looked down and took a deep breath. When he looked at her again, he was calmer. “I need you to understand there’s no way forward that doesn’t involve violence,” he said seriously. “If we let this go unanswered—”

“This wasn’t some kind of challenge!”

“YES IT WAS!”

Bilbo had almost forgotten what it was like to argue with Thorin. The past few weeks had been so blissful with both of them managing to be reasonable, and she was foolish to imagine moments like this wouldn’t come again. Thorin had been a ruler far longer than she and he had a method, a script he believed he had to follow. Just because he loved—no, Bilbo cut herself off she didn’t know that he loved her. She knew that he cared for her, but those were not the same thing. Just because he _cared_ for her, didn’t mean he was going to change the way he handled threats to his kingdom and international relations. Bilbo realized she was a fool to think otherwise.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said after a moment. “I know that look, and it’s not a look that leads anywhere good for either of us. But if I trust you, I need you to trust me. I need to prepare our forces and they need to see a united front. You’ve won the hearts of our people, now help me protect them.”

Bilbo didn’t like it, but she couldn’t deny that he had more experience in all of this than she did. And he was right—trust had to extend both ways. “I trust you,” she said reluctantly.

“Well you don’t need to write a love poem about it,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “We’re tired. We just got back on our feet and now there’s a literal army at our doorstep. I do trust you, but will you at least keep an open mind? If they ask to parlay will you hear them out?”

Thorin gave her a look that was half impressed, half aroused, and all frustrated. “By the mountain you are a force to be reckoned with.”

“Please?” she pressed.

He nodded looking as happy about the compromise as she had. Bilbo gave him a quick hug and then jumped back when he hissed in pain.

“Oh I’m sorry!” she told him, “I forgot. Oh, I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“You can make it up to me later,” he said, pulling her back in for a gentle, more controlled embrace.

“How’s that?” she asked.

He leaned down slightly so that he could whisper in her ear, sending shivers up and down her body. “I’m thinking that little game we played in the chair.”

“Please you can’t even take an unexpected hug,” she laughed at him.

“It’s not my ribs you’ll be squeezing.”

Bilbo snorted, the humor bittersweet. They both knew there wouldn’t be time for any games any time soon. She would have to content herself with these small, stolen moments and hope with all of her might that things didn’t get worse in the coming days.

***

“Sir.” Thorin looked up from his meal at the dwarf who stood next to their table.

“Yes Dori?”

“Riders have approached from the army and are asking to speak with you and Bilbo,” Dori informed them.

Bilbo looked up from her own meal in confusion. “They asked for me specifically?”

“They did,” Dori told her.

She and Thorin shared a look over the table. Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure what she thought about that. As much as Bilbo wanted to be there to support Thorin, she was equally worried this was Thranduil trying to use her in whatever his next scheme was. She was already wracking her brain trying to think of ways to avoid a war; Thranduil threatening her, toying with her, or trying to take her hostage under the guise of negotiations wasn’t going to help.

“And one more thing,” Dori said as they both pushed their food away and stood up. “Mr. Gandalf is with them.”

Now that was unexpected.

She and Thorin made their way back to the gates—Balin and Dwalin, Fili and Kili trailing behind at a respectable distance but armed nonetheless. They approached the shattered doors, and Bilbo saw the dwarves had finished erecting a temporary wall, the only way over at the moment a ladder reaching up to the top, and she wondered how Thorin expected to make the climb. But he didn’t go over the wall; instead, he nodded and one of the dwarves on guard duty pulled back a piece of metal revealing a hole at eye level. He approached and looked out, the lines of his face drawn down into a severe frown. Bilbo could just make out Gandalf on one side and an elf she didn’t recognize on the other.

“Thorin Oakenshield are we no longer allowed to enter the halls of Erebor?” Gandalf began.

“You remain welcome Gandalf,” Thorin answered, “but the elves stay outside.”

“I have deposed my father,” the elf next to Gandalf said.

“And who are you?” Thorin demanded.

“Legolas, former Prince of Mirkwood and now its King.”

“What do you mean you deposed him?” Bilbo asked. Thorin shot her a look, but Bilbo just glared back and hissed, “They asked for me to be here too.”

“What my father ordered was unconscionable,” Legolas answered, “and the elves want no part of it. We do not yearn for war or power.”

“And what do you ask in return for such generosity?” Thorin asked suspiciously.

“The people of Lake-Town have almost nothing left,” another voice said. “We know it was not your fault the dragon escaped, but we ask for your help regardless.”

“And who is this?”

“I am known as Bard,” he answered Thorin. “It was my arrow that pierced the dragon. The thrush spoke to me and told me what Bilbo, Queen Under the Mountain saw. Because of you I learned of Smaug’s weakness and was able to bring the dragon down.”

Everyone on their side of the wall turned and looked at Bilbo.

“You…can talk to birds?” Bilbo asked him.

“I am from Dale and my line carries that trait,” Bard answered. “Luckily, I was visiting Lake-Town when the dragon attacked. Legolas says the elves will take on the burden of helping us in Erebor’s name.”

“Generous,” Thorin said, “but at what cost? You don’t expect me to believe you arrived with an army merely to tell me of how you will make things right.”

“I ask only for the return of our emissary,” Legolas said.

“Impossible,” Thorin shot it down immediately.

“He had no choice,” Legolas persisted. “He was operating under orders from my father he—”

“He released the dragon and betrayed my wife!” Thorin declared. “He will be held accountable for his crimes.”

“I am fully aware of the gravity of his crimes,” Legolas persisted. “That is why I am here now. That is why my father is no longer king! My goal is to stop the bloodshed not add to it. How many more innocents have to die?”

“Innocent?” Thorin scoffed and Bilbo grimaced, knowing they were lost. “There is no innocence for the dwarves lying on their burial pyres or for the children that must grow up without a family.”

“And the one who is truly guilty is being punished!” Gandalf shouted back. “Let us in where we can talk comfortably at length or meet us in our camp. There is no reason this cannot be resolved!”

“I will not meet you in your camp when you bring an army to my doorstep,” Thorin retorted. “Nor will I let you in where you can do more harm. We are done with negotiations.”

“If you execute our emissary you star the war my father worked to create,” Legolas warned.

“Bilbo!” Gandalf called to her, and she stopped, turning back to the opening even as Thorin stomped away. “Bilbo you will listen to reason. Meet me—” The piece of metal slid back into place, muffling Gandalf’s words and cutting Bilbo off from the outside.

Furious, she looked first at the guard who had done it; he, at least, had the good sense to look sheepish but it wasn’t his fault, so Bilbo turned her glare on Thorin.

“Not here,” he growled, grabbing her hand and pulling her behind him.

“You do not get to dictate to me when I can speak,” she said, rage pulsing in her blood.

Thorin limped to a side room, his grip on her wrist tight and unyielding. But Bilbo wasn’t fighting him as he led her to a private space and slammed the door shut behind them. She was merely waiting for privacy to murder him.

“You will not allow Gandalf to use you like that,” Thorin snarled at her.

“You will not cut me off from speaking to Gandalf,” she snarled back.

“He is playing you Burglar! Can you not see how he uses your soft nature against us?”

“Soft nature?” she repeated, aghast. She flashed him a mean smile. “You’ve always had a way with words.”

“You know what I mean!” he bellowed.

“I know that you are so stubborn you will waste life rather than protect it,” she bit off in his face. “Legolas is out there giving you the sun and moon if you will but let go of one star! The people of Lake-Town are no doubt starving and only came here out of desperation and long have you had a good relationship with the people of Dale. What is there in this that plays us?”

“They think to wreck my kingdom, hurt and murder my people, and then walk away with no punishment?” Thorin asked. “Blood demands blood and we will have it.”

“Blood demands nothing,” she persisted. “ _You_ demand blood because _you_ think losing more life will somehow make up for that which was already lost. But nothing will! What happened was horrendous and what you are insisting on now is horrendous—we have a chance to move on, to rebuild relationships better than before, to—”

“To be the pawns of elves!” His roar felt like it shook the walls and he paced away from her, cursing his injuries, wizards, and stubborn hobbits who didn’t know their place.

“Did you just say I don’t know my place?” she asked, deadly quiet. Thorin pulled up short and had enough sense to look embarrassed.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said.

“I don’t know it,” she replied. “I know that I’m one of the ones Galeon betrayed. I know that I still have nightmares of that shack and of what they threatened to do to me. I know that I still have nightmares of Smaug and they aren’t going to get better because we met a second time. And I am still willing to let Galeon go because it will save more lives. How can peace not be the best possible solution here?”

“And what else will they ask for?” Thorin argued. “How soon before they send another spy, this one with orders to assassinate us?”

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “First of all, you can simply deny any and all emissaries for the foreseeable future—not that I imagine anyone will ask. But, more importantly, Legolas is not Thranduil! You heard what he said. He deposed his father; the elves don’t approve of what’s been done here.”

“And we’re to trust a son who would stab his father in the back?”

“Now you’re just being unreasonable.” Bilbo huffed in frustration, desperate to get through to him, needing Thorin to understand how wrong he was. “I know I don’t know a lot about running a kingdom,” she said in a calmer tone, trying a different tact. “But I know making the same mistakes is no way to go through life. You overreacted with me and we have a chance here to do things right this time.”

“ _I_ made the mistake?”

Bilbo looked at him, not sure what he was saying or why he was looking at her that way. “We’ve talked about this. I wasn’t trying to rob you and you overreacted.”

“No Burglar,” he said softly. “I didn’t want to hurt you, but I never said I overreacted. I reacted exactly as I had to given the circumstances. I thought you knew that.”

Bilbo blinked, sure she wasn’t hearing him correctly. “You sent me to my death,” she said. “And you said you were sorry—that you tried to help.”

“I am sorry for all the pain I caused you, especially with the second and third tasks,” he said. “I never should have insisted on them and I admit that. And I’m sorry that my inability to let go of the past hurt you when we were first married. But what I did that first night I had to do, and I am not sorry for that.”

“Even now?” she asked, feeling something inside of her hollowing out. “Even after…everything? You wouldn’t try to find another way?”

“There was no other way,” he said coldly. “I am grateful you survived it. Yes, I asked Gandalf to help as he could, but ruling means making sacrifices. You were a necessary sacrifice and Galeon’s death is necessary for justice.”

“Death?”

“We will execute him at dawn and send his body back to the elves,” Thorin proclaimed.

“No, Thorin you can’t—”

“This conversation is over,” he said, and Bilbo realized she was shaking her head, denying his words, denying this stranger she saw in front of her. This couldn’t be the same dwarf who made her laugh; the same dwarf who had brought her more joy than she imagined could be felt. He couldn’t be the same as he was when she first met him a lifetime ago, couldn’t be the same mad king who had…who still _would_ send her to her death over a misunderstanding.

She thought they had been learning to understand each other since he rescued her. She thought he’d been listening to her as much as she’d been listening to him. She thought wrong.

Thorin stomped out of the room, the door swinging behind him as he left her standing there, alone and poleaxed by his declaration. Instead of accepting peace he would execute Galeon at dawn. Instead of avoiding war he would court it like a lover. Instead of seeing past his pride he would wrap himself in it. But no, Bilbo corrected herself. He had always been wrapped in it. It was only that, for a while, she had been too close to notice.

She sat down heavily on piece of rubble, her heart going back into that lockbox. Bilbo knew what she had to do. Thorin was right, sometimes you didn’t have a choice and she could not let him lead them all into war because he thought revenge would lessen the pain of this tragedy. So, she would lock her heart back up even though it was far, far too late. She could feel it shattering because she didn’t have a choice and she knew, with as much certainty as she ever knew anything, that he would never forgive her.

Dropping her head in her hands Bilbo let herself cry.

***

She avoided Thorin, or maybe Thorin avoided her—either way, she was glad for it. The dwarves knew something had happened, even if they didn’t know the specifics. Thorin gave the orders for Galeon’s execution at dawn and Bilbo said nothing. But that night, as the last of the exhausted dwarves finally fell asleep declaring the mountain properly searched and all people accounted for, Bilbo crept through the hallways as silent as a hobbit. Unnoticed, she sidled right up to Galeon’s cell, hissing at him to wake up.

“Galeon,” she whispered. “Galeon get up!”

“Bilbo?” he asked in a confused voice. “Bilbo, is that you?”

“Of course, it’s me,” she snapped. “Do you know any other hobbits foolish enough to live here?”

He gave a weak chuckle.

“I need you to tell me something,” she said, “and I want you to be truthful, however awful that truth is.”

“You have my word,” Galeon answered, “though I doubt that counts for much anymore.”

“Why did you do it?”

He let out a long sigh, the sound full of pain and resignation. Finally, he said, “Thranduil is my king. He gave me an order and when you don’t fulfill Thranduil’s orders it’s more than your own life on the line. He would have killed my family—tortured them most likely to make examples out of my disobedience.”

“Why didn’t you run away?”

“To where?” Galeon laughed bitterly. “Even if I could get everyone I cared about free of his clutches we would be caught in Mirkwood within a week. Lake-Town would never protect us so what else are we to do—ask the dwarves?”

“So, you, what,” Bilbo asked, “just send me to a torturous death and loose a dragon on Middle Earth? How can that be the answer?”

“What else would you have had me do?” Galeon pleaded. “Are you asking if I’m proud of what I’ve done? No, I’m more ashamed of my actions here than I knew I could feel. And many people died because of it, so maybe it would have been better to simply sacrifice myself and my family. But I couldn’t…to watch those you love tortured in front of you? The things Thranduil did to those who disobeyed him…I’m glad I didn’t escape. At least here the dwarves will simply execute me and be done with it.”

Bilbo shook her head, her disgust with Thranduil, with kings, with all of it making her sick. What was wrong with these people? How could they sacrifice living, breathing beings for strategies and maneuvers? For pride and appearances? Bilbo was tired of it and sickened with herself more than anyone. She had forgotten the rules of this world and convinced herself it was different. She had let herself become blind and chose to believe the lie she told herself—the lie that maybe there could be another way.

“Thranduil is no longer king,” she told Galeon, taking the keys out she had pilfered on her way down. “Legolas is outside with Gandalf, a man named Bard, and a host of humans and elves. He says he’s deposed his father and will sign a peace treaty with Erebor and help Lake-Town rebuild if we will give you back.”

“Legolas?” For the first time Galeon showed signs of life, standing and coming over to the door. “Legolas is here?”

“A friend of yours I take it?”

“Legolas is the finest among us,” he explained. “He fought his father at every turn, last I knew he was banished. If he’s back, then that must mean—”

“That Thranduil is no longer king,” Bilbo repeated, trying to find the right key. “Keep up, we’re on a schedule here.”

“No don’t let me go,” Galeon said, putting his hands over hers. “I deserve to be executed for what I’ve done. If Legolas is back then my family is safe, but I should stay.”

“You can’t,” Bilbo sighed. “Legolas made very clear that if we execute you, he’ll fight his father’s war. He’s pretty convinced this wasn’t your fault.” The door clicked and she tugged it open forcing Galeon to pull back his hands.

“There’s no way Thorin Oakenshield agreed to this condition,” Galeon said, not stepping out of the cell.

“Obviously,” Bilbo rolled her eyes. “Now will you _move_. We’re sneaking out through the one of the shelters.”

“What will happen to you Bilbo Baggins?”

“Executed maybe,” she shrugged, impressed at how well she was ignoring the maelstrom of emotion inside her. “Banished if I’m lucky. Regardless, it won’t be war. Now start walking or I will be back with a sword and I will make you.” Galeon held his hands up in front of him and walked out of the cell.

She led him down the hallway, hoping with every piece of her soul that they wouldn’t meet a dwarf. Luckily, the lower levels were deserted now that the rubble had been searched and the way from the cell to the nearest shelter didn’t require they traverse any of the busier areas. Galeon’s injuries slowed him down but she kept their pace as fast as he could manage and he didn’t complain. When they reached the shelter, she led him to the escape tunnel, sliding the door open and taking one of the torches before she followed him inside and slid the door closed behind her. Only then did she allow herself to take a full breath.

“Come on,” she said quietly and began the long walk out of the mountain.

The moon was past its peak by the time they were trudging across muddy paths and the rows of tents came into view. The snows were finally melted, and the ground squished in places with saturated water. Bilbo thought of her garden then and how she probably wouldn’t get to see it grow after all. She didn’t know what kind of future she had after this, but she knew that soon, when she allowed herself to feel again, it wouldn’t matter. She had fallen in love with Thorin Oakenshield but he didn’t love her more than his pride. He didn’t love her more than his power.

He didn’t love her.

The tents grew larger and larger and Galeon’s movements next to her more labored. The gash in his leg was still healing and the route they had to take wasn’t short. “Almost there,” she told him, slowing her pace slightly.

The lookouts spotted them and there was a flurry of activity as Legolas and Gandalf were woken; then she and Galeon were led to a fine tent near the center of the camp—Bilbo was sure it was Legolas’. They entered to find Gandalf, Bard, and Legolas waiting for them, all of them looking like they’d been roused from their beds.

“ _Estel_!” Legolas cried out, rushing over and embracing Galeon.

“It’s good to see you too brother,” Galeon said, the look on his face breaking what was left of Bilbo’s heart. “But you shouldn’t have demanded my release,” he said, pushing Legolas back so he could face him. “The dwarves deserve my execution.”

“They got a revolution which should be more than enough to appease them,” Legolas declared. “I will not give them my best friend as well.”

“Then you don’t know what I’ve done.”

“I know exactly what you’ve done,” Legolas told him. “And you will have to live with it. But too many lives have been lost to my father’s schemes—I won’t give him another one.”

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said, motioning her over to him. “Thorin can’t have approved this.”

“He doesn’t know yet,” she admitted. “But I will go back and tell him.”

“No Bilbo,” Gandalf warned her. “He will be furious when he finds out and even more so when he discovers it was you. You will not be safe.”

“If he can kill me for this then…” Bilbo let the sentence trail off, not sure what else there was to say. If he could kill her for this then so be it, she supposed. Let him finish what he started those many months ago. Let him put her shattered heart out of its misery.

“You’re not thinking straight, come lay down in my tent,” Gandalf told her.

“Gandalf,” she said, emotion making her tone sharp, “if another man tells me what I think or what I feel I may very well begin screaming at the lot of you. I know exactly what I’m doing, and I know exactly what may happen because of it. I’m going back now. I expect Legolas to uphold his part of the bargain.”

“Of course,” the elf told her. He was helping Galeon sit down and calling for healers. “We will maintain peace with the dwarves and help Lake-Town rebuild.”

Bilbo nodded. “Then it was worth it.”

Gandalf gave her one last beseeching look, but Bilbo turned her back and began the walk back to the mountain. Distance-wise it was a much shorter return journey, but as the sun breached the horizon and she approached the wall Bilbo lost a lifetime with each step. A lifetime of passion with Thorin. A lifetime of memories building a home in the mountain. A lifetime of laughter with Balin and Dwalin and Fili and Kili. A life she never had, so she should stop mourning its loss she told herself.

When she reached the base of the makeshift wall she called out; a confused guard poked his head over and stared at her in shock.

“Well throw me a rope so I can get back in!” she shouted up at him.

He disappeared momentarily and she knew they were sending for Thorin, but the rope dropped down and she began her climb up over the wall. She crested it and then went down the ladder on the other side just as Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin raced up to meet her.

“Burglar?” Thorin asked worriedly. “What were you doing outside? How did you get there? Are you alright?” His concern was so sincere it almost broke Bilbo right then and there. How she yearned for a different ending to their story.

“Burglar?” he asked again, caressing her face. “What’s wrong?”

Bilbo took a deep breath and then she spoke clearly, so the whole room could hear. “I have released Galeon to the elves. Legolas beseeches the dwarves for peace and promises to help Lake-Town rebuild in the wake of the dragon.”

The quiet rang in the wake of her declaration.

“You did what now?” Dwalin asked.

“I let him go,” she said again, making herself meet Thorin’s horrified stare. “If anyone is to be executed this dawn it will be me.”


	18. The Return

Thorin’s face went through kaleidoscopic emotions—shock, disbelief, pain, refusal and, finally, rage. When he could form words, his voice was rough with it, the anger choking the words and turning them guttural.

“You let the elf go?”

Bilbo nodded. His face mottled with anger and he charged her, just stopping himself from grabbing her—the violence inside him palpable.

“You wish to take his place?” he roared. “You wish to be our morning execution?!”

“If that is how it must be,” she said calmly.

“Thorin,” Balin said.

“Stay out of this Balin!” Thorin yelled. “You heard her—she is volunteering to die in his place! Is that what you want?! _Is it?!!_ ” He was shaking her now and Bilbo was grateful for the numbness that swallowed her up. She didn’t want to cry at her own execution.

“Of course I don’t want to die,” she answered him. “But better one die than many, isn’t that what you said?”

He slammed her against the wall so fast Bilbo didn’t even know it happened until the breath burst from her lungs. He pinned her there, his hands like bands of steel on her shoulders.

“Executing him would only have brought war!” she shouted at him. “So, if someone must die let it be me!”

“Thorin,” Balin said, more forcefully this time. “Don’t.”

“You’ll never forgive yourself,” Dwalin added.

Thorin abruptly released her and spun away, a twisted laugh coming out of him as he looked at Balin and Dwalin. “So long ago I doubted your loyalty because of a woman who would be my wife, and now here we are,” he gestured at the scene. “Does no one else see the horrible humor of it all?”

“They had nothing to do with this,” Bilbo said, but Thorin spoke over her.

“They’re defending you,” he snapped. “You’ve done a more thorough job than Corin could have hoped. My dwarves defend you, my kingdom in shambles, and me married to a traitor.”

“I’m trying to save your kingdom!” she shouted. “Why can’t you see that? Why does your pride matter more than your people? More than me?!” The last word came out on a sob and Bilbo cursed herself, angry for breaking in front of him. He only laughed again, the sound as cruel as his expression.

“How could I doubt a hobbit who’s never ruled a day in her life,” he mocked her. “What was I thinking? Maybe I should have invited the dragon to tea? Maybe we didn’t need to fight at all.”

Bilbo turned her gaze from him, unable to stand there while he wore that expression. She almost wished he would just execute her; it would be less painful than seeing him look at her like she was the monster.

“I should have killed you the moment I saw you reaching for the Arkenstone,” he whispered.

“Then kill me now,” she dared him. “Or lock me up, but spare me your dramatics.”

That blow landed. He spun back toward her with a snarl, and then Dwalin was there, putting his body between the two of them while Balin pulled her away from the wall and shoved her towards the gates.

“Well, isn’t this familiar,” Bilbo tossed at him over the two brothers separating them. “Balin and Dwalin having to separate us. I thought I was wrong about you—I thought I had judged you too harshly for your pride and your choices, but I was right all along. You are a mad king who makes excuses for abusing his power just as Thranduil did!”

“Please lass,” Balin begged her, and Bilbo’s heart broke more at the tears in his eyes. “You’re making this worse.”

It was her turn to let out a harsh laugh. “How can it be worse Balin?” she asked him. “No matter how much I love him, he will always choose power. No matter what the compromise he will always demand it be his way. I was a fool for ever thinking things could be different.”

Thorin stood stock-still, his face turned to granite the moment Dwalin stepped between them. Bilbo looked at him, knowing this was it. The final blow would land now, whatever it was.

“Leave,” he said, the fight going out of him and leaving a terrible resignation in its place. “Leave this place and never come back. If you do, I will execute you myself.”

Now the tears pricked her eyes, and she cursed inwardly at herself. She knew this was coming—she’d known this was the most likely scenario the moment she chose to free Galeon. Crying now served no purpose at all. Locking the emotions back, she nodded and turned back to the gates and the ladder she had descended moments before.

The whole thing was over so quickly she thought as she climbed up the wall. The proclamation of her banishment. The tragic end of their story. Her time as Queen Under the Mountain. What had once seemed an interminable future was suddenly over in an instant. Reaching the top of the wall she took one moment to look back, but all she saw was Thorin disappearing around a corner, and he didn’t look back. Bilbo slammed the lid on the box holding the wreckage of her heart and locked it away tight. She would grieve later. Right now, she needed to climb down this wall and figure out how she was going to get back to the Shire.

So that’s what she did.

***

“Thank you,” Bilbo said to Legolas as she secured her saddlebags on the pony. The new elf king had generously ensured she was well-supplied for her journey home as well as provided with a pony. Bilbo was sure she was grateful even if she didn’t feel grateful; she didn’t feel much of anything—hadn’t since she’d walked out of that blasted mountain for the last time.

Last time. The thought thrummed deep in her chest. She was perfectly calm and ordered for long stretches of time—it was over. She was going back to the Shire. Her trip to Erebor was nothing more than a grand adventure after all—but then, suddenly, a stray thought or unwanted memory would resonate inside her. Each moment hit, like the feeling was striking a gong in her chest, and she would breathe in through her nose and out through her mouth until the waves of agony dissipated. And every time it happened, Bilbo felt something crack inside her a little bit more.

“Are you ready?” Gandalf asked, leading his own horse over. “If you don’t mind, I thought I would ride with you.”

Bilbo managed a small smile, shocked and relieved she wasn’t going alone. “Yes,” she answered him. “I would appreciate the company.” She swung up onto the pony as Gandalf mounted his horse and waved goodbye to Legolas and Bard who had come to see them off. Letting her eyes roam across the landscape one last time, Bilbo hoped the peace she sacrificed everything for lasted. It would be a shame to be banished, only to hear Thorin rode to war anyway. But that wasn’t her concern anymore, she reminded herself; whatever happened on this side of the Misty Mountains was once again relegated to rumor and legend. Gently nudging her pony, Bilbo set off.

The journey was pleasant enough. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she thought Mirkwood seemed healthier than she remembered it. It might also be that the new growth of spring brought color and hope to the trees, whereas before she had ridden through after the peak colors of fall began to fade. Still, the air felt lighter and Gandalf spoke more freely of the history, the elves, and of stories long forgotten. By the time they left the boughs of Mirkwood behind and began the long trek up the Misty Mountains, Bilbo had even begun laughing at Gandalf’s jokes.

Traveling was good for her, she discovered; she couldn’t be sad and morose while she was on the road. There was more than enough for her to see and learn, and the business of setting up camp each evening and the long hours spent traveling every day kept her occupied and tired enough to sleep. If she still woke up most nights from nightmares of dragons and enraged dwarven kings then, well, that was just how it was going to be, Bilbo figured. No sense in getting worked up over it. She was doing such a good job of staying occupied, in fact, that it wasn’t until they reached Rivendell that the memories overtook her.

They rode down the path towards the Homely House and Gandalf had Bilbo smiling as he made leaves dance in the air like butterflies. The elves welcomed them with cheers and music and Bilbo waved hello, looking forward to the short respite from the dust and rocks and roots that came with sleeping on the ground. But as they rode towards the stables, they passed the garden—it was large and well-tended, the new sprouts shooting up through the earth in orderly rows that promised good food, delicious spices, and breathtaking colors. And Bilbo remembered the garden she was going to plant, remembered how good it felt when she paced that meadow, anticipating the melting snows and warming weather so that she could begin planting. Her garden would have looked like this, not so grand or impressive but well-loved and carefully cultivated.

The garden where Thorin’s temper finally drove her away the first time. The garden he had promised was hers after he saved her from the three evil dwarves in the shack. The garden he told her he couldn’t wait to see grow.

The emotions crashed into her like a tsunami and Bilbo felt like a fool for not expecting it. Her feelings had been drawn away from her, pulled back by a force that couldn’t be stopped, and she had accepted that soothing numbness with welcome relief. Never once did she anticipate how it would be when she could feel again; never once did she make a plan for how to withstand it.

Using every ounce of willpower she had, Bilbo dismounted her pony at the stables, staying silent even as the tears began pouring down her face. Gandalf looked at her with alarm, but she gave a sharp shake of her head, gesturing wildly at her things and hoping he would understand she meant, “I can’t take care of this right now. I must go. I will be back later.” Needing to escape before she burst, Bilbo turned and ran from the stables, heading into the walking paths of the gardens and not stopping until she was sure she was alone. And then, stuffing her shirt in her mouth to stifle the noise, Bilbo let herself wail.

The crying was an ugly, messy business. That first, initial rush felt like it was clawing her to pieces leaving her chest shredded and her body aching. She lost track of time, of where she was, even of how loud she was being—all Bilbo could do was survive. Slowly, eventually, it began to ebb, and she drew a shaky breath; the sobs were still coming but they lessened in intensity and finally eased into tears. By the time she was blowing her nose with her handkerchief and beginning to feel frustrated with her own dramatics, the agony inside her was replaced by a wretched loneliness that seemed to have carved her out and left her hollow. Her face was a mess; Bilbo knew her eyes were swollen and held no illusions that she was hiding anything from anyone, but the sun was dipping below the horizon and shadows were stretching across the path. It was time to go back and see about a meal and then she would go to sleep, and she would hope very much, that she didn’t feel this way tomorrow.

She wasn’t hopeful that tomorrow would be better, but she thought today was a great day to start lying to herself. She would be fine. She would move on. She would live her life.

An elf met her at the end of the path as she approached the house, and nodded that she should follow. Bilbo couldn’t remember a time she was more grateful to someone for not talking to her. The elf showed her to her room, and she entered to find a meal already set out, her things sitting by the bed, and a fire crackling cheerfully in the hearth. It was then that Rivendell won her heart forever.

She began by washing her face and hands, taking a moment to remove the travel and heartbreak from her skin, then she sat down in front of the fire and began eating. All of it was delicious. Bilbo dug in, her mood not dampening her hunger at all, and when she finally sat back it was with a satisfied belch and a contented belly. Rifling through her things, she dug out her pipe and the bit of Old Toby she had packed for the trip and then settled back in front of the fire to finish her evening.

The second round of tears were a quiet, somber affair. She looked over at the companion chair sitting empty across from her and thought of the days locked away together during the last big storm of winter; she smiled at the memory of Thorin insisting he would make sure she rested since she couldn’t be trusted to do it herself. Bilbo had been so scared of how she felt then. Those days had been a paradoxical mixture of utter joy and stomach-cramping anxiety. How sure she’d been that Thorin was only being nice. How convinced she was that those strange feelings growing inside of her were unreciprocated.

“In the end you were a fool,” Bilbo said to herself. “Just one more lovestruck fool too caught up in the moment to keep her head on straight.”

The fire offered no response.

With a sigh, Bilbo tapped out her pipe and got ready for bed. The mattress was feather soft, and the blankets the finest she ever felt. And yet Bilbo feel asleep that first night on a pillow wet with tears and crushing her arms to her chest as if she could force the chasm to close where her heart had been through sheer force of will. The only relief was that she didn’t dream.

***

“It’s the Shire, Gandalf!” They had ridden over the hill as the sun began its slide into late afternoon, and the Shire opened up in front of them as green and verdant as Bilbo remembered. “Oh, I will sleep in my own bed tonight,” she sighed.

“You’ve been gone a very long time,” Gandalf replied. “Let us hope no one, or no thing, has taken up residence in your absence.”

“If they have, I shall show them the business end of my boot,” Bilbo asserted. “I have dreamt of this day too long to let it be spoiled by uninvited mice or Sackville-Bagginses.”

Gandalf chuckled at that and Bilbo flashed him a grin. Nudging her pony into a trot she set off at a quicker pace, eager to be back to her own home and surrounded by her own things.

The hobbits they passed stopped in their tracks as Bilbo passed by, letting their mouths hang open while they gaped at her. Bilbo smiled and waved at them all, greeting those she knew by name. It made her laugh at first, but by the time Bag End came into view she was quite ready for everyone to mind their own business. They acted as if they’d never seen a hobbit on a pony before.

By the time she dismounted and walked her pony to the structure she used as a stable, Bilbo’s smile was gone and she was working very hard at not being irritable.

“I’ll see to the mounts,” Gandalf told her. “You go inside and put the kettle on.”

“You mean go inside and clear out any rodents who’ve made it their home too,” she laughed. But as Bilbo pushed through her door the only thing she saw was _home_. It was the first bit of simple happiness she had known in so long, and she rubbed her chest before setting off to see what needed seeing.

She sent a letter ahead from Rivendell and it looked like the Gamgees had stopped by to freshen things up. Freshly cut flowers were in a vase on the table, and while things were a bit dusty, Bilbo didn’t see a smattering of black pellets that promised unwanted guests and assaulted larders. The food and supplies she and Gandalf had with them would make a fine meal tonight, but Bilbo would need to spend a lot of time at the market tomorrow restocking her shelves. Luckily, the tea kettle was shiny and clean, and the tea set out as if someone knew that would what she wanted first thing. Bilbo made a note to send Master Gamgee something that showed her appreciation.

A knock on the door made her sigh, but she had the fire started and hung the kettle over it before answering. An older hobbit greeted her, one of the Proudfoot’s if Bilbo wasn’t mistaken, and she told herself to be patient as she fixed a pleasant expression on her face.

“Mistress Baggins!” he greeted her, a tad too effusively Bilbo thought. “We were so shocked to receive your letter that you were coming for a visit.”

“This is my home,” Bilbo reminded him. “I’m not coming for a visit. I’m home.”

That seemed to throw him for a loop. “Oh, well,” he blustered, patting his pockets and looking around. “But aren’t you, uh, that is we, uh, heard you’d gotten married.”

“I did.” He stared at her, waiting for her to expand. She stared back, her pleasant smile not reaching her eyes.

“Well then,” he said when it was clear she wasn’t sharing details. “We thought maybe we should begin preparations you see.”

“Preparations for what?” Bilbo did not like where this was going.

“Preparations for the celebration!” he explained as if it were obvious. “It’s not every day we Shire folk get royal visitors. We want to make sure and welcome you and the king properly!”

It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected this moment—plenty of time had passed for news of her marriage to reach the Shire—but she hadn’t expected this moment so soon.

“The king won’t be visiting,” she said, not realizing how blunt she sounded until there was another round of questioning looks and awkward silences.

“So it’s just you then,” he said.

“Just me.”

“And you’re by yourself then?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, uh, hrm, that is, welcome home!” His smile didn’t quite sell it, and Bilbo knew that gossip wouldn’t take until tomorrow to spread. But he then was gone and she was home, and hopefully no one would ask her about Thorin for at least another day. The kettle began screaming and Bilbo rushed back to the kitchen as Gandalf came in with their bags.

“You’ve already had a visit from your neighbors then,” Gandalf asked her, setting his hat on the hook above his staff.

“Not a neighbor,” she told him. “A busybody from over the hill, but yes I had a visit. And I expect news of my strange husbandless return will spread faster than a fire through dry grasses.”

“And does that weigh on you?” Gandalf asked innocently as they waited on the tea to steep.

“Does what weigh on me?”

“Their questions,” he clarified and then, more quietly, “being husbandless.”

Bilbo snorted. “Nothing weighs on me as much as my guilt would had I not done exactly what I did,” she said. “And, whatever else I feel, that truth will sustain me.”

“Good,” Gandalf nodded, sitting back in the chair. “That is good.”

“I am healthy, I am home, and I’m in good company,” Bilbo said, looking out at the setting sun. “If this isn’t good, I don’t know what is.”


	19. An Unexpected Guest

Spring gave way to summer and Bilbo settled back into a familiar life. The first few months were marked by thinly veiled questions regarding her marital status, but over time the gossip gave way to the next exciting tidbit as gossip always does. Perhaps some of the hobbits viewed her with more suspicion than they once did; even her relationship to the Old Took couldn’t save her reputation entirely from the shame of returning home married to a king and yet clearly without said king. But Bilbo was fine with that—she had no intentions of presenting any tributes to any kings again in this lifetime.

The summer was a mild one and the vegetables she had planted late in the season shot up strong and healthy as the warm, easy days wore on. Bilbo wasn’t lacking for things to do—there was weeding and yardwork to be done, but there was also the upkeep and chores that came with fixing a home that lay vacant for months on end. She turned the little space in her backyard into something closer to a proper stable since Gandalf left the pony with her when he left. Bilbo named her “Edythe” and made sure to go out and talk to her every day. Edythe seemed to like their chats, Bilbo thought, but since Bilbo was the one bringing the food and treats it was hard to take the pony’s love too seriously.

She cleaned Bag End from top to bottom leaving no space undusted and no floor unswept. Then, because she felt like it, she put a fresh coat of paint on all the walls. Her days were a joy more often than not, and she often sat down to dinner feeling proud of her hard work and accomplishments. It was after dinner, when she sat quietly in the dark before the fire, that her joy gave way to despair.

Something about the deep, dark quiet of night inevitably drew Bilbo’s mind back across the miles to lonely mountains and their mad dwarf kings. These were the only times she allowed herself to miss him—she missed the way he rolled his eyes when she teased him, and the fun of arguing over who was more stubborn. She missed the way it felt to curl up next to him at night and waking up to discover he had wrapped himself around her as they slept. She missed the way he touched her and made her feel an ecstasy she couldn’t seem to recreate on her own. Often Bilbo weathered the pangs of loneliness with a book; sometimes she would write, trying to capture her adventures. Sometimes she would retire to bed and touch herself, working her body until she was gasping and writhing on her bed.

But it was always Thorin she thought of, and it was always his name that broke across her lips. And afterwards what relief she felt was fleeting because no matter what she tried or how many different ways she experimented Bilbo couldn’t seem to reach that same peak of release she remembered feeling as Thorin tortured her with his hands and mouth and body.

Those nights were the worst and she fell asleep with tears in her eyes more often than she liked to admit. But always the sun rose again and brought with it another day and another chance to heal and Bilbo _was_ healing. She may be forever changed by her experience as Queen Under the Mountain but different didn’t have to mean bad. Different was merely the natural consequence of living her life on her own terms, and Bilbo would have it no other way.

And so summer waned and wildflowers bloomed and wilted as those first mild months gave way to the final hot, dry days before fall arrived. Bilbo traveled to Rivendell and back, finding she enjoyed the elves’ company more and more and found herself at the Green Dragon Inn more than couple of nights a week. She laughed and she cursed and she moved on.

***

Bilbo sat by an open window, reading by the light of a flickering candle—it was a quiet night, and the breeze was cool. She thought she could smell the tang of fall in the air, though the weather showed no signs of breaking any time soon. She wore her lightest shirt and occasionally helped the breeze along with the fan she kept around for exactly this sort of occasion. Her book was a lighthearted adventure; it was a story about the Rangers, though Bilbo doubted very much that it was true. But their friendship moved her as they roamed through the wilds to protect those who knew nothing of their struggles or successes. It was a compelling tale, and she didn’t realize how engrossed she was until a knock at the door made her jump in her seat.

“Coming!” she called, putting the book down and making sure she looked decent. It was probably Imogen Greenhill with a basket of cookies; Bilbo appreciated the cookies, but she had to be in a certain mood to withstand Imogen’s exceptionally dull company.

Pasting a pleasant smile on her face she opened the front door and saw Thorin standing on the other side. Her mind went blank, that stupid smile freezing on her face as Bilbo struggled to decipher if this was real or a nightmare. Had she fallen asleep reading? He was alone; there was no sign of other dwarves milling behind him or that he had traveled with the guard he always claimed she needed.

“Hello Burglar,” he said and the sound of his voice, lower and more resonant than she remembered, shook Bilbo free of her shock.

She closed the door in his face. Thorin didn’t knock again and Bilbo didn’t get a moment’s rest all night.

The next day, cranky and tired, she poked her head out her front door half-expecting to find a retinue of stubborn dwarves camping on her doorstep. There was no one, and no sign that anyone had been there recently and as she saddled her pony and left for the market in Bywater, Bilbo told herself that was good. She didn’t want him here; she didn’t want to hear his excuses. She wouldn’t let him upend her life again. But if that was true, then why couldn’t she shake the sense of dread that he had left and would never return?

The argument with herself continued all the way there and all the way through her shopping. Her reaction was more than valid to having your former husband—how was she even supposed to think of him? What description could possibly sum up their complicated history?—appear on your doorstep late at night with no warning. He should have expected nothing less. And if he gave up so easily, then it was for the best.

“Gave up,” she said to herself as she packed things up to return home. “I want him to give up. I want him to stay gone forever!” Another hobbit eyed her like she’d been smoking too much Old Toby, but Bilbo couldn’t spare any attention to her behavior. She was too busy trying to figure out why the idea of Thorin appearing, only to disappear again immediately, felt like an explosion waiting to go off inside her. If he truly did leave after last night she would be devastated. But if he left because she wasn’t ready to speak…out of nowhere…with no warning…on his schedule…then he never should have come at all.

She rode up the lane to Bag End and her anxiety coalesced into anger as months of bitterness finally found a target and began seeping out of the dark recesses of her mind where she had exiled it. She saw to Edythe and then walked around with her packages, ready to pen a strongly worded letter or two and send them off to Erebor, but she pulled up short because there was Thorin standing in front of her door.

“Burglar,” he said, holding his hands up to forestall her words. “I will leave if you want me to, but there are things I want to say. If you don’t want to speak to me today, I will come back tomorrow or the day after, but please let me…I ask only that you hear me out.”

“Hear you out,” she said. “Like you heard me out before you banished me?” His flinch was satisfying, but not as satisfying as Bilbo wanted it to be.

“I don’t deserve your time,” Thorin said. “But I am…begging you for it.”

He choked on the word “begging” and if he had said anything else—if he had asked or demanded or even beseeched—Bilbo thought she would have left him out here at least another day. But he was humbling himself before her and she had always been a sucker for sincere apologies. She blew out a curse and pushed past him to the door.

“Well, you better come in then,” she told him, leaving him standing outside as she carried everything to the kitchen.

He followed her tentatively, almost as if he couldn’t believe she meant it. Which wasn’t a bad move because Bilbo still wasn’t sure how much she did. No amount of begging could undo the hurt he had caused her, and as she spun around to stare at him, she was discovering along with the bitterness was a goodly amount of rage she hadn’t even known she felt until he was standing in front of her.

And the bastard had the gall to look like he was sorry.

“You will talk,” Bilbo told him, “but I make no promises to hear you out. If you so much as _hint_ , that anything was my fault I will chase you out of my home with whatever sharp thing I can find, and you will never be welcome here again. Also, why are you alone? Was all that talk about the road being dangerous a lie to? Can you travel Middle Earth with no fear of being recognized after all?”

Thorin cleared his throat and shifted nervously for a moment before setting his feet and boldly meeting her glare. “Balin and Dwalin traveled with me,” he began. “They have gone on to Bree as Balin insisted you didn’t need three dwarves appearing out of nowhere and Dwalin said you deserved the opportunity to murder me in private.”

Bilbo snorted. She always had liked Dwalin. “So, is that where you went last night?” she asked him. “All the way to Bree and back?”

“No, I camped in a field not far from here,” he told her. Then he took a deep breath and said what he came here to say. “I am sorry. I was a fool. You were right.” She stared at him and waited for him to elaborate, but he tucked his thumbs in his belt and rocked back on his heels like he had just delivered an apology worthy of song.

“That’s it,” she asked dryly. “I’m sorry, I was wrong, and you were right—that’s all I get after being banished under pain of _execution_ if I ever returned.”

“I…well,” Thorin cleared his throat and Bilbo realized that really was all he had prepared in advance.

“You proud, stubborn, _stupid_ fool!” she snapped. “Did you really think that was all you would need to say? And then what, I would be so moved you said you were sorry that I would leap into your arms and beg you to ravish me on the spot?” At least he had the good sense to look sheepish at that point.

“I didn’t want to hide my sincerity behind flowery words,” he said quietly and looked down. “I thought those were the most salient points.”

“What about your insistence that you would do it all over again the same way?” she shot. “Or your claims that I was nothing but a thief and a traitor? Or, my personal favorite, you’re insistence that I was nothing more than a naïve idiot, with a soft heart who would tear down your kingdom around you if left to my own designs?”

“I never said—”

“Oh, we’re not going to quibble over specifics,” she interrupted him. Her rage was fueling her now, every tearful moment, every ounce of heartbreak, every second of pain he had caused her fueled this anger and made her vibrate with the power of it. “What you said, what you _did_ was unconscionable! And now you just…just show up? Without so much as a letter asking if I even want to see you?! I’m happy here you great troll of a dwarf—I’m finally home and no one suspects me or plays games with me or tries to use me like a piece on a board. No one here thinks of lives as expendable!”

She was shouting by the end, her blood pounding in her head and her breathing ragged with emotion. Tears pricked her eyes and she spun away, looking out the kitchen window and yelling at herself for feeling all these things—things she had spent months convincing herself she _didn’t_ feel—and angry at him for dredging up those feelings. Her words dissipated in the air between them, and Bilbo clenched her fists, fighting for a sense of serenity, fighting for some semblance of balance.

“When I said I was a fool and you were right, I meant it about everything,” he admitted after a long moment. “More dwarves would have died if we went to war with the elves, and it wouldn’t have undone the damage they did. It only would have prolonged and exacerbated the agony of those already grieving. It was a hard call to hand him over, but it was the right one. Legolas has proven himself to be a king superior to Thranduil in every way and it took me a long time to see that. It took a long time for me to admit to myself and others that you were right to go against me. That you saved lives where I would have sacrificed them.”

Bilbo began making tea, needing to be doing something, anything so she wasn’t just standing here _listening_ and _feeling_.

“It took me a long time to realize how wrong I was,” he continued. “And by the time I understood what you had been trying to tell me it was summer, and I didn’t want to upset you more. I know you’ve moved on, and I didn’t come here to upset your life. But Balin convinced me I was being a coward—he said you deserved a proper apology and to know I finally understood what you were trying to say so…we made the journey. Whatever you do with it, I wanted to offer you that at least.”

“You’ve been sorry before,” she said, looking at him again after putting the kettle on. “You say you’ve learned and changed and then the next thing happens, and you claim you wouldn’t change a thing about the past. Why should I believe you? How long before you use your position as king to justify whatever new atrocity you think is necessary?”

Thorin shifted again, looking more nervous than before.

“What?” Bilbo demanded. “What is it now?”

“That’s why I’m abdicating to Fili,” he confessed.

“ _What?!_ ”

“I left him in charge when I came here,” Thorin explained, “a sort of trial run. Fili is young, but he’s clever and strong and kind—he’s dedicated to his people and he has a far better grip on his pride than I do. He was the one who wouldn’t let me attack the elves after you left. He stood in front of me and fought until I accepted that peace mattered more than revenge. When I finally saw myself…saw what you saw, saw what the others saw…I realized I’d lost track of what mattered. I forgot that the real lives of people, of what _is_ , should always take precedence over the pretenses and perceptions of what might be.”

“So you just…just gave up being king?” Of all the things she expected to hear when this conversation started, that was not one of them.

“If Fili needs me, I will return immediately,” he said. “My first responsibility must remain to them, but…yes. I think my time has passed as King Under the Mountain. I think I am better suited as a counselor to Fili and, if you would allow it, someday I would like to be a…a friend to you.”

He spoke haltingly by the end, and Bilbo wasn’t sure if he was struggling with what to say or how to say it. She suspected it might be both. The kettle started screaming and she used the excuse to turn away and collect her thoughts as she made the tea. But she was already speaking, her response escaping her with no filter.

“Friend huh?” Bilbo could have slapped herself.

“Well, uh,” Thorin stammered, and she heard him moving around behind her. “I didn’t want to presume…I thought even friend was asking for a lot.”

“It is.” She laid out the tea on the table and sat down in her chair with a sigh. “So we’ll start with tea and then I’ll decide if I want to murder you.” A smile flashed across his face, gone in an instant and replaced with an apologetic seriousness, but Bilbo still reacted to it. She had always loved his smiles. She frowned and told that part inside of her that never wanted him to leave again to sit down and shut up.

“So,” Thorin said, awkwardly taking the seat across from her. “How have you been?”

***

Bilbo barely slept that night which only served to make her doubly cranky the next day. She and Thorin had talked in a meandering way until it was time for supper, and she wasn’t _not_ going to feed him. And then night fell and even though she should have sent him back to that field, Bilbo told him he could stay in the guest room. But all she accomplished was keeping herself awake all night, thinking about how he was only one room away. And then thinking about how she liked that he was only one room away. And then thinking about how she should have simply kicked him out the second time the same as she did the first.

It would have been accurate to describe her feelings as “complicated.”

But Thorin busied himself the next day, fixing broken hinges and looking over Edythe and her shoes. He came in at lunch to ask if she would object to his setting up a forge in the backyard. Bilbo hadn’t the slightest clue how he could even build such a thing, but it gave him a purpose and gave her the space to keep self-flagellating for every hour he stayed. She nodded and he disappeared again for the rest of the afternoon. By suppertime the second night after they agreed to speak, Bilbo had finally worked up some questions of her own.

“Why me?” she asked as she squeezed lemon juice over her fish. “Why come all this way just to apologize to me?”

He choked on his drink and looked at her like he didn’t understand the question. “Why not you? We are still married—at least according to dwarven custom, though I understand you may consider that status…changed.”

“I don’t know what I consider that status,” she said stiffly. “But I do know that our being married isn’t a reason.” He was gaping at her while she began eating.

“How can it not be?” he asked in bafflement, his own food forgotten in front of him. “You are…you are my _wife_. You are the one I hurt most with my pride and stubbornness.”

“Sure, sure,” she waved that all away as if it didn’t matter, as if her heart didn’t do a little flip-flop at the way he said “wife.” “But that’s all still titles and traditions. I mean why do _you_ care whether I’ve forgiven you or not? Why do you want to be friends?”

“Burglar you know what I feel for you is a great deal stronger than friendship,” he said in a low voice. Bilbo hid her flush behind a drink of her own, telling her body to simmer down.

When she had regained her composure she asked, “But what would you call that precisely?”

“Well, I,” Thorin became very interested in the food on his plate. Taking a bit of his own fish he muttered, “I don’t know that I know what to call it…precisely.”

“Hmm,” Bilbo murmured. “That’s not much of an answer.”

“I’m not sure I understand your question.” He sounded affronted.

“Are you irritated with me?” she challenged him.

“No,” he said too quickly, “of course not. I’m just…confused.”

Bilbo laughed, rather enjoying being the one in control of their conversation; an obsequious Thorin had its perks. He glowered at his food and began eating, and she knew she’d pricked his pride. Good, she thought to herself. It was past time she scored a point.

“When you figure that out,” she told him haughtily, “you let me know.” And that night, Bilbo slept like a baby.

***

The next day was hot—hotter than anyone in The Shire was used to or prepared to put up with. Bilbo had all the windows open but kept wondering outside, finding her comfy hobbit hole to be a sweltering oven. Just past midday she brought Thorin a bucket of water; he’d been out working on the forge all morning and she knew he must be melting. His shirt was off, draped across a bench and his body glistened with sweat as he placed brick after brick. Somehow, he’d gotten his hands on an anvil and tools, but Bilbo barely spared a thought for how or when. Her eyes were glued to his sun-kissed skin and the flow of muscles as he shifted and moved.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked. Bilbo cursed, forgetting how he always seemed to know when she was staring.

“I brought you water,” she said, trying for nonchalance. “It’s a hot day and you’ve been out in the sun.”

“Thank you,” he said, standing up and coming over for a drink. Bilbo’s eyes locked on his chest as her body roared to life; a memory so intense it stole her breath overtook her—her hands running down that chest, her moans as he moved on top of her, the feel of his cock buried inside her.

“Here!” she shoved the bucket at him. He barely had a hold of it before she was running away.

Bilbo needed to go—she needed to leave and get some space from that confounded dwarf and these confounded memories. She needed…what was she thinking. She stopped her pacing and turned her frustration on herself. This was her home. _He_ needed to go. She would make him leave. Now. Soon. Tonight. He could sleep in the field for all she cared. Or maybe she would just make a rule that he couldn’t wander around half-clothed like some kind of wanton temptation. Yes, she nodded, that was what she would do. She would make a rule and—

“Burglar?”

She drew up short and looked to the door. Thorin stood there watching her, that stupid beautiful chest still on display.

“I wonder if you might let me cook dinner tonight,” he asked casually, as if this was fine. As if him speaking to her while looking so indecent was a perfectly valid way to converse.

“Yes, fine,” she agreed quickly, and he left again. “But put on a shirt!” she yelled at his retreating back. She could have sworn she heard a chuckle.

By the time he called her in for supper, Bilbo thought she had walked the entirety of Hobbiton. After the fiasco with her libido she left, determined to walk off whatever this hold was he seemed to have over her. But when she returned and saw him, fully clothed now, cooking in her kitchen like he belonged there, like he wanted to be there, the need to throw herself at him came back stronger than before.

“I trust you didn’t have any trouble finding what you needed,” she grumbled, stepping to the basin to wash her hands.

“Not at all,” he said, the hint of humor in his voice. Suddenly he was there, so close she felt his chest press against her back as he reached around her and grabbed a towel. Before she could yell at him, he was gone—back to the pan and whatever he was cooking in it.

Disgruntled Bilbo went to another room, pretending to be reading a book until he called her to the table. She was attracted to him, she admitted, and there was nothing wrong with that. He was a fine looking dwarf after all. And it wasn’t like they hadn’t shared intimacy in the past—no, no, that was the wrong train of thought. Bilbo squeezed her eyes shut and tried to clear the memories of passion and longing that seemed to be swelling up and overtaking her.

“Dinner is ready.” Was his voice deeper? Bilbo could have sworn his voice was deeper. Reluctantly, she went in only to freeze in the doorway at what she saw.

He had picked wildflowers and found a vase so that they set in the center of the table. The food smelled delicious—he had made some kind of stew with fresh bread and butter to go with it. And he set the dishes out so that they would sit not across from each other, as Bilbo had placed them thus far, but right next to each other. Candlelight burned, casting everything in a soft glow that softened the edges and made her pulse beat harder. He pulled the chair out and gestured for her to sit down.

Conversation was mostly small talk, driven by Thorin who seemed to be in exceptionally good spirits and unperturbed by Bilbo’s inability to offer more than one-word answers and the occasional grunt. It wasn’t that she meant to be rude, but he was being so…so…so _charming_. Pleasant, funny, polite—and he kept looking at her like she was the thing he wanted to eat next. Her throbbing pulse centralized between her legs and Bilbo wondered when she’d lost control of her life.

She ate quickly, too unsettled by her own arousal to sit and enjoy the stew as it deserved. It was delicious; she couldn’t argue that. But when she jumped up to do the dishes he followed.

“Let me help,” he said softly and then he was reaching around her again, his body moving into her space but not touching. “I’ll dry.”

The shiver that tore through her had nothing to do with the temperature. The words were whispered in her ear where they transformed into a rush of arousal that swept through her. She elbowed him, hard, and glared. He had used that move before.

Thorin chuckled but retreated to his own space. They worked in silence; Bilbo rinsing and washing while he dried and put away. She finished the last bit of silverware in no time, and then reached for a towel and wiped everything down. Then she turned and gasped. Thorin wasn’t at the hutch as she expected, putting the silverware away. Instead, he was standing too close to her; his eyes burning into hers. He took another step forward and Bilbo pressed up against the sink unsure if she wanted to shove him away or pull him close.

“You asked me why you,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “I thought you were being intentionally obtuse at first.”

“I—I wasn’t,” she stammered, unsure where to look, how to stand, where to put her hands.

“So I discerned,” he flashed a quick smile and lifted his hand slowly to her face where he carefully tucked her hair back, behind her ear. Bilbo shivered again as his finger brushed the tip of her ear. “For someone so clever you are impressively foolish at times.”

“Gee, thanks,” she muttered.

“It finally occurred to me that when I say you’re my wife, that means different things to each of us.” His hand cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek.

Why was she letting him do this? Why wasn’t she pushing him away? That answer terrified Bilbo more than anything.

“When I sent you away it felt like I cleaved my heart in two,” he said softly and Bilbo’s eyes shot to his, unsure of what she was hearing. “I thought you knew I loved you—I thought you’d known all along. But then I remembered you have a tendency to hear what you want to hear and not what I say.”

Bilbo’s heart leapt into her throat, choking her voice. “When did you ever say you loved me?” she whispered.

“Every day,” he said simply. “I said it when I told you I trusted you. I said it when I faced my own fears to open up to you. And I said it,” he tilted her face to his, leaning down until his breath was a whisper across her lips, “every time I touched you.”

The feel of his lips against hers, his body against hers was so good, so right that Bilbo cried out in pain as she tore herself away.

“No,” she said, one hand pressing against her chest as if to keep what she was feeling from tearing out of her. “No I can’t because you said…and I…but you…” The agony of the moment overtook her. Every emotion, every moment of heartbreak, every flashback she’d suffered from the last few months overtook her and she was buffeted by their pain even as she yearned to tell him to stay. Yearned to say she loved him too—that she always had, and it wouldn’t stop no matter how hard she tried. No matter how foolish it was. But he didn’t abandon her. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him and stroked her hair while she shook.

“I know,” he murmured into her hair. “I know and I’m sorry. I did so many things wrong and I hurt you so many times.”

“I do not want to cry on you again!” she screamed into his chest. But she already was, and her arms had wrapped around him, hugging him tight despite her words.

“I don’t want to make you cry again,” he said softly. Bilbo switched from hugging him to beating her fists against his back. She wanted to hurt him, but she never wanted to see him hurt. She wanted him to know he could never make up for what he’d done, _never_ erase the pain of those memories…but that didn’t mean she wanted him to leave. Because this, now, was what she wanted more than all of it. Him here, apologizing and taking responsibility for what he’d done, telling her he loved her, saying…

“Wait,” she sniffled. “If you left the kingdom to Fili and you came here and you love me…”

“I was hoping you might someday agree to let me stay with you,” he said, answering the question behind the words.

“Here?” she asked. “In the Shire?”

“Here in the Shire.”

“You want to—to be with me? Be with me in my world?”

“More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Including the Arkenstone.” That got a chuckle, even if it was a watery one.

“I wish I could hate you,” she whispered into his chest.

“I know,” he said. “But I’m so grateful you don’t.”

The sob that statement ripped out of her was not delicate.

“Bilbo,” he said, and she let him pull her back and tip her face up to his, and her eyes widened in shock. The tears on his cheeks matched her own as did the anguish in his eyes. She reached up and tenderly wiped them away, an act that only made both of them cry harder.

“Bilbo,” he said again, turning his head to kiss her palm and then taking a breath to compose himself. “Whatever you want of me I will do. If you want me to leave, if you need time I will go. I just wanted you to know that I am here. I will always be here. And I will always be hoping for the day you ask me to come back.”

Bilbo stepped away from him and grabbed a handkerchief to blow her nose. His expression fell when she moved away, but once she had cleaned herself up and felt like she could focus on something other than her runny nose she turned around and said, “Get over here and kiss me before I change my mind.” Thorin didn’t need to be told twice.

This time when his lips met hers, she sighed in relief and buried her hands in his hair. His arms wrapped around her back, pulling her flush against him and they both groaned at the contact. He pushed her back without breaking the kiss until she ran into the table and then lifted her onto it. She spread her legs, locking her ankles behind him and pulling him in tight against her as his hands squeezed and kneaded her ass while he grew hard against her.

Bilbo couldn’t bear to break the kiss, and she released a strange complainy sound when he broke away even though it was only long enough to impatiently yank both of their shirts off. His hands immediately loosened her breasts from the linen bra and then she was groaning as he covered one with his hand, his thumb and forefinger immediately working her nipple until she was mewling and writhing against him.

Her own fingers scraped down his bare back, making him growl and she brought them around, cupping and rubbing him through his pants. This wasn’t going to be a long slow worshipful coupling—Bilbo wanted him inside her now with a desperation she didn’t know she could feel. He yanked her hands away and laid her flat against the table.

“You always want to make me come in my pants,” he said and then moved down to take her breast in his mouth, teeth and lips making her arch off the table.

“I always…want you…to go faster!” she panted.

“For once I agree,” he said standing back up to grab her pants and small clothes and yank them off in one mighty tug. She squealed and was pretty sure she heard cloth rip, but she didn’t care because then he was back against her, his hands working his own pants loose. Grabbing each of her legs, he yanked her to the edge of the table and took one more moment to stroke her, finding the spot that made her beg before sliding first one and then three fingers into her.

Bilbo’s hips pumped against his hand and when he pulled his fingers away, she cried out. But he quickly lined himself up and filled her and she screamed so loud she didn’t doubt the neighbors heard.

“Are you okay,” he grunted, shaking against her while he held himself still, giving her time to adjust around him.

“Yes, please,” she pleaded, her hips already starting to move.

The table scooted across the floor with the power of his thrusts until it was banging into the wall. He slammed into her again and again and Bilbo urged him on, wanted more of him, all of him. Her hands were up over her head as she tried to brace herself so that she would push back, feeling like she could never get enough of him again. His fingers dug into her as they both chased the passion that drove them. His name was a chant on her lips, and she felt that peak, felt her body wound up and so, so close but she couldn’t seem to get there. She writhed and begged, mindless in her need, and he tilted her until she cried out as he touched more of her, his strokes now stimulating her clitoris with each movement. Faster and harder he went and then Bilbo was screaming again, this time as contractions pulled her tight and waves of bliss rolled out through her body. He barely lasted another moment, groaning her name as his thrusts turned uneven and then crying out as he pulsed and released inside her.

He collapsed over the top of her, their position far from comfortable, but both of them too tired to do anything about it for a moment. Bilbo was mostly just impressed he managed to stay on his feet. When her pulse finally began to slow and their breathing evened out, she opened her eyes to see him staring down at her tenderly. He leaned in and kissed her, and she thought she might cry again if she wasn’t already so wrung out.

“Tell me we can do this again in a bed,” he said with a sweet smile.

“I don’t know if you can,” she said with an exaggerated shrug. “You’re not a young dwarf.” His eyes flashed and his smile turned predatory. Without warning he stood up and then threw her across his shoulder like a sack of potatoes so that her naked ass was bouncing next to his face.

“Thorin Oakenshiled!” she squealed. In response he slapped her lightly, making her squeal some more.

“You issued the challenge,” he said, walking into her bedroom and tossing her down on the bed. He had her legs spread and was sliding down until his shoulders held her open wide for his perusal. “I’m merely defending my honor.”

Later, by the time Bilbo was near to passing out from blissed-out exhaustion, the sun was rising and she was never so happy to be proven wrong.

“I love you,” she whispered, her eyelids dropping.

“I love you too,” Thorin whispered back.

Bilbo’s heart soared free.


	20. Epilogue

“Stop it!” Bilbo scolded Thorin, slapping his hands away. “I’m trying to get things ready.”

“They won’t be here until tomorrow at the earliest,” he pleaded with her. “And then the house will be full, and I’ll have to behave myself.”

“I’m not about to broadcast our lovemaking to a house full of dwarves so that you can strut around in front of them,” she snapped.

“Oh, the strutting will happen regardless,” he winked.

“Why are they all coming for a visit so soon?” she asked him. “We only returned from Erebor last month.”

“And they want to see where we’ve made of our home,” he answered her, pulling her away from where she was straightening things up to look at him.

“I’m just worried is all,” she admitted. “I know things are stable now, but with you and Fili being away from the mountain—”

“The mountain is well-tended,” he said, “and that’s not what’s bothering you so out with it.”

“What do you mean that’s not what’s bothering me?” she groused. “You don’t know that anything is bothering me.”

“I’ve been married to you for three years and I’ve spent the last two living my best hobbit life,” he tweaked her nose. “I can tell when something is bothering you.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“Burglar!” he demanded.

“Fine! They’re going to be here over our anniversary, and I had, well, _plans_ if you must know,” she sniffed.

“ _You_ made plans for our anniversary?”

“I do not appreciate your tone.”

“You have yet to even remember our anniversary,” he said dryly.

“I’m bad with dates!” she argued. “This year was going to be different.”

He gave her a deeply suspicious look. “How so.”

She gave him a sly look. “I found a very interesting book last time we were in Rivendell,” she smiled. “It had all sorts of diagrams and instructions—I had no idea the elves had books on such subjects.”

His look turned heated and he pulled her more tightly against him. “Well then maybe we should try that out today instead of cleaning what is already clean.”

“I want credit for not only remembering we have an anniversary this year but for planning a surprise too,” she said.

“I’ll give you credit for that and double it if you show me this surprise.”

Bilbo flashed him a wicked smile, reaching for his belt. But they both froze at the knock on the door.

“Maybe if we’re quiet, they’ll just go way,” he whispered.

“We’re here early!” Balin’s voice called through the door and it was Bilbo’s turn to laugh as Thorin groaned in frustration.

“Stop boffing each other and let us in!” Dwalin shouted next.

She slid away from his embrace, giving his ass a sharp slap on her way for good measure. Thorin growled and promised revenge for that with his look. But both of them pasted serene expressions on their faces as Bilbo opened the door.

“Auntie!” Kili called and threw himself on her.

“Am I still allowed to do that even though I’m king?” Fili asked.

“Yes,” Bilbo answered, and his face broke out in a grin before he trapped her between he and Kili once again.

“Okay, okay,” Balin said, breaking them up. “It’s a long journey and I’m an old dwarf. Let’s go inside where there’s food and a fire.”

“You weren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow,” Thorin said by way of greeting.

“Told you we were interrupting,” Dwalin chortled.

“Honestly Dwalin,” Bilbo said.

“You’re overselling it,” Thorin muttered behind her.

“Do you have room for one more?”

“Gandalf!” Bilbo cried. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Nor did I,” he laughed, “but my business concluded in the south and I thought I would stop in and see my two very good friends.”

“Come in, come in,” she waved them all through. “There’s plenty of food and you’re all welcome with or without an invitation, you know that.”

“Aye lass,” Balin chuckled. “But we’d hate to stumble on you two unannounced like poor Kili did last year.”

“That’s because he entered our _bedroom_ without knocking,” Thorin said while Bilbo flushed to the roots of her hair.

“Well forgive me for being a little worked up over an orc attack!” Kili said.

“It’s the part where you told everyone about it afterwards that really irritated him,” Fili nudged his brother.

“I don’t know why embarrassing us has to be your favorite sport,” Bilbo sighed. “Can we _please_ not talk about this?”

“Bilbo,” Kili clutched his hand to his chest in mock hurt. “I can’t believe you would think so ill of us after all this time. _Of course_ , we’re going to talk about this.”

And, so, when the day came Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield celebrated their third anniversary of being married with their loved ones instead of by themselves. It wasn’t the night they had planned, but then nothing about their marriage had ever gone according to plan. And in the end, despite the ups and downs and fights and reconciliations, it turned out luckily for them both.

Because what they did have was so much better than what they ever thought they wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thank you for reading and I hope you had some fun along the way. I really enjoyed writing this one :)


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